


The Scandalous And Altogether True Adventures of Blobby & Pastey Hawke

by bettydice (BettyKnight), codenamecynic



Series: Kirkmall AU [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Crack, Evolving Tags, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Kirkmall AU, Nerdiness, Romance, Twin Hawkes, alternate universe - mall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 109,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyKnight/pseuds/bettydice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disappointments to their mother and the black sheep of the family, twins Bobby and Patsy Hawke have never been all that good at getting on with things - not with their futures, not with adulthood, and definitely not with love.  When opportunity knocks with the chance for a little romance, each must choose whether to open the door to change, or hide behind her fears forever.</p>
<p>A story full of wookie noises, awkward stares, closet-boners, questionable life choices, and love - but most importantly, a story about growing up.</p>
<p>Welcome to the Kirkmall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kirkmall Map

 

 

yes we made this ~~because we're huge nerds~~ , to help visualize everything


	2. Hot Coffee Guy + Hot Video Game Girl vs. The OTP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Patricia "Pastey" Hawke finally gets a hot date. Or does she?

“Isabela, the world is ending!”

Isabela looked up from the comic she was reading _(The Amazing Amazons: They’ll Crush Your Dreams And Your Head)_ to see who was making such dramatic statements - though there really was only one potential candidate.

“What is it this time, sweetling?”

Patsy Hawke was out of breath, having run all the way from the coffee shop across from them… which was not very far, but she had been very shocked and it was still early and okay, she hadn’t done any ‘sports’ in a while because, let’s face it, she had better things to do. She grabbed her left boob theatrically and tried to convey what she had witnessed while gasping for air.

“He… he's GONE!”

“Who's gone, darling?”

“Hot Coffee Guy! Today is his shift, which I know because I stalked him and wrote it down, and he's not there!”

“Maybe he just changed it around, no biggie.”

Patsy’s breathing returned to a normal rate and she furrowed her brows.

“Yeah, well… I didn’t think about that.”

Isabela leaned over the counter, showing off her impressive cleavage in a way that made the handful of teenagers currently browsing the aisles blush, one of them even dropping the video game they were looking at.

“Hey, watch out! That’s a limited edition of  _Blasto’s Revenge -_ that shit is expensive!”  If there was anything Isabela was serious about, it was pricey limited editions of obscure video games.  The boys returned to their quiet perusing (and boob watching) under Isabela's fearsome glower.

“Patsy, don’t you think it’s time you made a move?”

Patsy’s breathing sped up again, definitely still because of the physical activity and totally not because the thought of actually _talking_  to Hot Coffee Guy made her panic.

“But he’s so gorgeous and he makes amazing coffee and his voice is like an orgasm. What would he even want with me? I bet he has like a million hot ladies and gentlemen at his feet, lusting after his hot beverage-making ass and I’m just one of them.”

“You’re being silly and you know it. I will still give you a hug, because I’m a helper and you look like you need one.”

Isabela motioned for Patsy to come closer to the counter so she could hug her, and Patsy eagerly moved forward. Strong arms closed around her and she felt her face being pressed into those warm, soft boobs. Isabela’s hugs were the best hugs, mainly because they never managed to stay G-rated. There was definitely a hand patting her butt and she just hoped it was Isabela’s.

“Every time I try to ask him out, I just end up ordering an extra cookie. I will just keep ordering cookies until I grow into a blob of fat with tentacles and like six pairs of tits.”

“Don’t say shit like that while you’re snuggling my boobs. Respect the boobs and respect yourself! You will take your sexy ass over there right now and ask him out, because guess what? Hot Coffee Guy just showed up for work!”

Before Patsy could fully process Isabela’s wisdom and that startling information, a strict voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Everything alright in here?”

It was Aveline, Mall Cop by day, Patsy’s childhood friend by night. As always, she was accompanied by her partner (and illicit boyfriend!) Donnic, a sweet guy who somehow made it through working with Aveline without killing her. Patsy disentangled herself from Isabela and waved at Aveline with enthusiasm. She returned it with a short nod.

“Patricia, your mother called me. She was asking if you were doing alright, because you never answer your phone.”

Guilt rushed through Patsy, scorching her insides just like the first sip of the coffee from the shop across from them always did. She never remembered how hot it was, too distracted by Fenris’ gorgeous everything. (They referred to him as Hot Coffee Guy, because Patsy was too afraid that somebody who knew him was listening and would tell him all about that pathetic video game store employee who was obsessed with him). She was so glad it was summer now, mainly because she could order iced coffee and also because now he was wearing t-shirts. And she could stare at his arms. His wonderfully sculpted arms. And his…

“Patsy! Snap out of it! Your mother!”

“So sorry, Aveline! I will definitely call her back, soon. Almost definitely. If she calls you again, tell her I’m fine and that I lost my phone!”

Aveline opened her mouth, probably to deliver a lecture, but was interrupted by Donnic waving a donut in front of her face. Bless that guy.

“Donnic, you know I don’t eat on the job.”

“But it’s a  _jelly_ donut.”

Aveline’s eyes narrowed on the pastry, her lips pressed together in a thin line, the struggle against temptation clearly written on her face. She lost, grabbed the donut and stormed out of the shop.

“Call your mother, Patsy!”

Sooner or later, she would eventually call her mother, probably, absolutely, one day, in the future, yes. Now, she had a mission. Patsy pulled down her top so she had more cleavage, earning her a high-five from Isabela.

“Go get him!”  


* * *

 

“I’m sorry I’m late, I forgot to set my alarm clock!”

Fenris hurried to put on his apron and started washing some of the dirty cups. He hated that fucking apron; whoever thought it should be bright orange deserved to die in a ditch. Orange!

“Don’t worry, there haven't been many customers so far!”

Merrill was cheerful as always. He didn’t know how she did it and he didn’t ask - mostly because then she would tell him and five hours later she would still be talking and he would not be cheerful at all. 

“Not many customers? That’s good. So, was there… uhm… did you see… never mind!”

“Oh, you mean your special lady friend? No, she hasn't come in yet, don’t worry.”

Fenris almost dropped the glass he was holding and turned around to see Merrill grinning at him.  _Ugh._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Naturally, Merrill did not get the hint and did not stop bothering him.

“You know, the cute girl from the video game store. She only ever orders from you. One time, I saw her come in, look around, and leave because you weren't here. And you always keep a few of her favourite cookies in the storage room, so she always gets one.”

“That… I don’t.“

He knew that denying anything was a futile attempt but he would never give Merrill the satisfaction of admitting that yes, he waited for Hot Video Game Girl to come by every day. And of course Merrill would notice the cookie thing, she was way too specifically observant for her own good.

“Oh Fenris, I brought some strawberries from my garden! You should eat some, some fruit would be good for you and they’re delicious.”

Dammit, he loved strawberries. He would eat them, but he would be very grumpy about it. He was trying to banish his frustration by angrily scrubbing the dishes, when Merrill elbowed him in the side and started pushing him away from the sink.

“Cute Girl Alert, you better get behind the counter and take her order!”

Fenris quickly dried his hands on his ugly orange apron and rushed behind the counter. Merrill was right, Hot Video Game Girl was here.  She smiled at him and his heart started  to flutter. Merrill must also never know that he fluttered.

“Hello! How can I help you today?”

“Hi Fenris!”

It was the first time she’d ever said his name. Technically, he knew that she knew his name because he was wearing a name tag, but to hear it… He realised that he had just been staring at her without saying anything and she had been staring back and one of them should probably say something.

“What’s your name?”

The way he said it, it sounded almost rude. He really hoped Merrill wasn’t listening and he also hoped that maybe a piano would fall from the sky and crush him into the worthless paste he deserved to be.

“It’s Patsy! Well, it’s Patricia, but everyone just calls me Patsy.”

“Hello, Patsy! How can I help you today?”

Piano. Now.

“Oh. Uhm, the usual, I guess?”

Well, he had clearly fucked it up. Majorly. He could feel Merrill’s deadly stare as he made Patsy’s coffee and tried to will the piano into being. Or an alien invasion. Something to distract everyone from the miserable life choices he was making. But that was not going to happen _clearly,_ so maybe he should just suck it up and ask her.

“Here’s your coffee. Would you like anything else?”

Not quite what he had wanted to ask. His hand moved to get the cookie before she could even order it and when he handed it to her, she looked defeated.

_Fuck it._

“Would you like to have coffee?”

“I already have some?”

“With me. I mean, would you like to have coffee _with me.”_

For a moment she just stared at him, mouth half open, and he just wanted to lie down on the floor until she was gone. Maybe he should’ve asked Merrill for help after all. Then, suddenly, a huge grin appeared on her face and his heart started hammering its way out of his chest.

“Yes, Fenris, I’d love to get a coffee with you!”


	3. Apron-Abomination vs. The Cookie Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy and Fenris get closer; Roberta "Blobby" Hawke crashes a stormy weather mall date

“You should really invest in an umbrella, a big storm’s supposed to hit Kirkwall!”

Merrill’s words echoed through his brain as he fought his way to work through rain and wind. His hoodie provided no real protection against the unrelenting downpour that fell from the sky like someone had decided that it was finally time to drown the miserable shithole that was Kirkwall. On the upside, he was so drenched that his hood was glued to his head and even the wind tearing at him with icy fingers couldn’t push it down.

Getting out of bed and going to work had been even harder than usual with the storm howling outside. Not that Fenris’ flat was a place where he liked to spend much time, it only had the bare necessities and still managed to look “as though a horde of zombies had run through it” - according to his sister. But it was _his_ flat and his bed was sufficiently comfy and  - most importantly - there were no other people. All in all definitely preferable to being cold and rain soaked and having to work all day.

He would be alone during the morning shift, because Merrill had… something to do. He dimly remembered something about taking her bees to the vet, but that didn’t seem right. He knew that she apparently took care of bees or harvested them for honey, whatever it was you did with bees, but what would a vet be able to do? Did bees get sick? How would you know? Merrill had seemed quite worried, maybe he should write a text message later…

Suddenly, there was a splash and something cold and wet was invading his sneakers. Puddles, the bane of his existence. Teeth clenched until it hurt, he jogged the last few minutes to the mall, water sloshing in his shoes and hatred against the world burning in his eyes.

Once he got to the coffee shop he rid himself of the wet clothing as quickly as he could. Somehow, _everything_ was drenched, which is how Fenris found himself in the middle of the Brewmother in nothing but his knickers. The chorus of _WET WET WET GROSS_  died down and was replaced with _WHERE AM I GONNA GET SOME CLOTHES BEFORE THE CUSTOMERS ARRIVE_. There was only one thing remotely resembling clothing in the shop: the orange aprons. One in the front, one in the back, a tea towel across his shoulders - Fenris had never felt more hideous.

Strangely enough, no customers came in. Apparently nobody else was as stupid to leave their houses in this weather. Well, he wasn’t gonna complain about it. The fewer people who saw him in this getup, the fewer he had to kill so that there were no witnesses.

He really liked the Brewmother when no one else was around. He made himself a big cup of coffee, put in his favourite classical music that Merrill deemed “too complicated for customers” and sat down in the comfiest arm chair and for a wonderful moment things were quiet and cozy.

The piece he was listening to was about to hit his favourite part - where all themes came together in one big, final culmination - when he was ripped from his reverie by an ear piercing scream, followed by a string of loud curses. He shot up and ran to the entrance. More curses and shouting followed - they were coming from the video game store!

Hot Video Game Girl! He rushed over and burst through the door of L3V3L UP and then froze at the scene he had stumbled onto. Patsy Hawke was standing in front of the store’s flat screen, controller in hand and yelling loudly into her headset.

“HEAL ME YOU BLIGHTED NUGHUMPER! OOOOOOOOOH I GUESS YOU COULD JUST HEAL THE OTHER FUCKING HEALER INSTEAD OF THE TANK! GOOD IDEA! WHY DON’T YOU JUST TAKE YOUR SODDING HEALING SPELLS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR TAINT.”

She must’ve seen his reflection in the flatscreen (probably the glowing orange of the aprons), because she dropped her controller and slowly turned around while removing her headset. The horror on her face was a mirror of his own, as he realised that yes, he was wearing nothing but his underpants and two aprons.

“Fenris! What are you doing here?”

“I was… working and I heard you shouting.”

“Working? I thought everyone was advised to stay home because of the storm warning! I mean, at least that’s what Isabela told me on the phone like 30 minutes ago when I called her to ask why the mall was freaking empty. Did no one call you?”

She eyed him up and down and her lips were definitely twitching in an attempt to hold back laughter. Fenris had the sudden urge to adjust the front apron, but no adjusting in the world would make him look anything other than ridiculous.

“I… got wet.” He sighed, letting his hands fall down at his sides. “And Merrill, my co-worker, probably didn’t know about the warning either, she had a beemergency this morning. I mean, a bee emergency. Sick bees.”

“Bees?”

He grimaced and nodded in defeat. Fenris had dreaded seeing Patsy for the past few days, because after he’d asked her out for coffee nothing had happened. They hadn’t set a date and he didn’t know her phone number. She’d probably just said yes because he’d confused her and was now regretting ever speaking to him. She kept coming in every morning to get her coffee but she never brought up the date, and now he'd stormed into her store like a bright orange abomination made out of aprons, talking nonsense about bees. This was why he didn’t want to get up in the morning. Things only ever got worse.

“I assume there’s as many people lining up for coffee as there are buying video games… seems like we’re the only people oblivious enough to go to work today. ”

Patsy smiled weakly and started wringing her hands as Fenris just shrugged, all words seeming to vanish from his brain. The silence stretching out between them, taunting him with images of Merrill’s disappointed face - the one she made every time he failed to ask Patsy about their date. Hhe tried to gather some words before Patsy decided that a walk through a tornado would be less painful than this encounter, and spoke those fateful words he’d uttered once before:

“Would you like to have coffee?”

* * *

 

Things didn’t get any less awkward once they sat down across from each other with their beverage of choice. What did other people talk about when they ‘went for a coffee’? He could hardly start a conversation with So, what are your feelings on medieval Antivan trade rights, because I just read this fascinating essay… Yet another reason why his history degree was completely useless.

“Have you played the new Dragon Hunter game?”

“No, I don’t really play video games.”

“Oh.”

Patsy quickly hid her face behind her mug but her disappointment was almost tangible. Why, why did he say that? This was a girl working in a video game store and he’d just witnessed how passionately she played, and he just said he wasn’t interested in what she did.

“What’s the game about?”

“Well, it’s about this dragon hunter, and she… has to kill a lot of dragons.”

They both took a long sip from their coffee which gave Fenris a moment to wrack his brain for anything he knew about video games. He had Tetris on his phone… did that count? But what could he possibly say about that? 'So, Patsy, isn’t it just the best feeling when you finally get that long thin block and it destroys like three rows at once?' Before he had to sink that low, a weirdly familiar melody started playing from… Patsy’s stomach.

She put down her coffee with an apologetic smile and dug her phone from the pocket of her hoodie. After one look at the display she muted the phone, but the tune had played long enough for Fenris to recognise it. Excitement rushed through him - he had found his opening!

“Was that the Star Wars theme?”

Patsy’s face lit up with a huge smile and Fenris’ heart fluttered in a strange, yet not entirely unpleasant, way. He couldn’t help but return her smile as she leaned forward, eyes shining with excitement.

“Yes! I looooove Star Wars, it’s my favourite movie trilogy. The old ones anyway, with Dog Skywalker. And Hanna Solo is like, my childhood heroine. I was so obsessed with her, the other kids at school called me Hawke Solo!”

“I have very fond memories of these movies as well, it’s astounding the emotion they managed to convey via barks and a few wags of the tail.”

“Oh man, I know! I feel like I can totally understand everything Dog is saying even though he’s not actually saying anything, you know? And that soundtrack, it’s so fucking good! When Dog draws the light saber for the first time and the music swells up in the background…”

“The score is fantastic, it has so many nuances that you only notice when you really listen to it. I think we have the CD here, let me go put it on!”

Where was the blighted CD? He knew that it had to be here somewhere, because he’d bought it and brought it here because he didn’t have anything at home that could actually play CDs. He was going through the pile for the third time when he suddenly felt Patsy at his side, her arm brushing his when she picked up a few of the disks.

“Can’t find it? Maybe it’s in the wrong case, that always happens to me.”

Fenris just nodded, all his focus on the fact that he could feel the warmth of her body against his. Mostly because his arms were bare, not covered by the stupid aprons. He was actually kind of cold and everything about Patsy looked warm and cozy.  It would probably feel really nice to hug her…

“Found it!”

She waved it in the air, and as he turned to look at her they suddenly found themselves face to face. The last time he’d been this close to her, he’d been pressing a ham to her eye. The memory made him laugh and without thinking he lifted a hand and brushed his thumb across her cheek.

“How’s your eye doing these days?”

“It’s fine! Hamazing, even!”  

Patsy wrinkled her nose, clearly regretting saying that pun out loud and Fenris laughed again, leaning closer until his forehead touched hers.  “I’m glad.”  He took a deep breath and moved to kiss her, when the door opened and someone stomped into the store, making them jump apart.

“Here you are, I knew you’d be at the mall as well!”

The Brewmother had been invaded by a giant cookie.

Or a girl in a cookie costume, which was not any less confusing. And somehow the cookie seemed to know Patsy. They had a heated little discussion about why each of them was at the mall and why the other girl (Blobby? Was that a name?) was wearing a cookie costume (apparently she’d been cold, something Fenris could relate to). Fenris just stood awkwardly next to the CDs, frowning at the intruding cookie lady. They’d been so close to kissing…

“Fenris, meet Bobby, my sister.”

Sister? Patsy had a sister? And why was she looking at him as though he’d been the one to ruin  _her_  date?  

Fenris waved weakly at her and sighed.  “Anyone want some coffee?”

* * *

 


	4. Blobby & Pastey vs. Poor Life Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boy-talk, chocolate and sister-feels

"NO WAY, were you seriously right about to kiss that dude?!"

She didn't know if she was amused or horrified, scandalized or oddly compelled, or a mixture of all four emotions at once, but it was sort of hard to settle on which one fit best with her sister all but shoving her out of The Brewmother with both hands death-gripped to the back of her cookie suit.

 _"Shut up,"_ her sister hissed, just out of her line of sight, spinning to _pull_ her out of the store when Bobby managed to turn them around, all but dragging her twin toward L3V3L UP on the heels of her shiny patent leather mary janes.

"RUDE, he offered me coffee."  Patsy's lips were pressed together in a thin line, her face blotchy and red in a - was she blushing?  She was blushing!  "Who is he?  How do you know him?  Oh my god, _you like him."_

"Will you please just shut up?!" her sister hissed, pulling a life-size cardboard movie promo cut-out of Legolas between them and The Brewmother across the way, as though that was going to give them some sort of privacy.  "You are killing me here!"

"Me?!   I'm not the one who's apparently been keeping secrets from her twin!"  Bobby stood on her tip toes, trying to sneak a peek over Legolas' sexy cardboard shoulder.  "Hot coffee drinking secrets- hey!"  Patsy yanked her arm, almost knocking her over.

"You are a menace."

"A _phantom_ menace?"  Patsy didn't laugh.  "Too soon?"

"It will _always_ be too soon.  What are you even doing here, Blobby?"

Bobby's eyes narrowed at the familiar nickname and tried to set her hands on her hips, which was actually harder than one would think thanks to the bilious foam of the costume she was wearing.  "Well I guess I _thought_ I had to work.  I didn't realize my pastey twin would be here on some sort of steamy secret coffee date with a guy wearing two orange aprons and a tea towel."  If she had, she would have brought a camera.  "I mean, what is that even about."

"He was wet," Patsy answered lamely, shrugging awkwardly in a movement somewhere between 'sad bird flapping' and 'arms made out of noodles'.  Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you in the suit? No one is even here."

Bobby sniffed.  "I was cold."

They stared at each other for a long moment, mouths pulled down into twin expressions of disapproval and then chagrin, both peeking out behind Legolas' manly cardboard torso toward the coffee shop where orange-apron boy had regained at least a shirt and seemed to be deep in a conversation between himself and a disappointed bag of coffee.

"Right, I should go."

"Me too."

"Call me later?"

"I'll come over when the storm ends."

"Use protection."

"I will actually kill you."

* * *

 

In retrospect, Bobby probably should have just stayed at the mall.  The rain was coming down in earnest and the first thing the wind did was snatch her umbrella out of her hand and turn it inside out, which she really ought to have been expecting honestly since it seemed she'd made the excellent and completely logical life choice of attempting to shrug off what was tantamount to a hurricane because - reasons?

So stupid.  She should have just left the cookie suit on - there was no way a giant wet chocolate chip cookie waiting for the bus in the rain could be any more pathetic than a shivering loser in a panda sweatshirt, hood with ears drooping sadly over her head.

Naturally the bus was late, because of course it was, pulling up to the mall stop like a boat out of the mists.  The heat was cranked to the max inside and all of the windows were fogged - it was very tempting to throw a hand against one like that scene from Titanic, though she thought that might have been a bit awkward what with the way she was the only passenger, as if she was the only person not being paid by the city too stupid to realize that the storm would have everything closed.

And to think, she could have spent the morning lounging in bed in her polka dot toe-socks, writing the next chapter in the epic action adventure story - with tasteful yet graphic love scenes - of Commander Jane Shepard and Major Kaidan Alenko, dreamboat of the SSV Normandy.  Not that she hadn't committed 60,000 words over four different stories dedicated to the pair, but obviously that was no one's business but hers and her 400 followers on Tumblr.

(Patsy had been after her to write something Shakarian since the last time the two of them had accidentally tripped into obsessively playing the Mass Effect trilogy for the seventy-third time, but she'd once read a NSFW head-canon involving Turian genitalia and a .gif of a duck penis and had never really gotten over it.)

The heat in the bus was stifling once it managed to penetrate through the three (now soaked) layers of clothing she was wearing, and by the time the bus pulled up at the stop down the block from her apartment she was like an over-steamed asparagus spear, floppy and depressing.  And of course it was cold again as soon as she dragged her sorry, dripping self onto the curb, feet squishing in her shoes with every step.  So much for patent leather being waterproof; that's what she got for buying cheap shoes at Value Royeaux.  Stupid 'buy one get one free', now she had two pairs of extremely cute but dysfunctional shoes - which she guessed was good, since this pair was probably now ruined.

A+ decision-making.  She didn't even make it up the stairs with them on, kicking out of them on the landing of the second floor and clomping the rest of the way to her third-story walk-up in her stocking feet, quiet wookie noises echoing down the stairwell behind her as she dripped down the hall.  At least she'd managed to remember to close the windows, which meant that she was coming back to an apartment that was only chilly and not flooded.

She wondered if Pastey had remembered to close hers.

Probably not.

Eh heh heh.

She couldn't believe that her sister hadn't told her about 'hot coffee guy' (who honestly ought to be called 'absurd orange apron boy' after today's stellar display).  Or rather, she could believe that Patsy might  _try_  to hide something from her - she just couldn't believe she'd actually pulled it off.  Patsy wasn't exactly the best at being subtle, and she could only imagine how many times her ridiculous sister must have cried into Isabela's prodigious rack for comfort.

So lame.  She would  _never_.

Okay maybe better not to judge.

Bobby changed out of her sad panda sweatshirt while she waited for Patsy's inevitable arrival.  How long could it possibly take, she wondered, for her twin to make all the appropriate panicked wookie noises and run screaming from the mall?

That was if, of course, she wasn't nailing apron boy on the bean bag chairs in L3V3L UP.

She hoped not.  That would be horrible.  She'd never be able to sit in them again, and they were honestly the best spots for napping in the whole mall between shifts.

Not that Isabela hadn't probably christened them.

Oh god, maybe she needed a shower after all.

Oh well, they'd come too far. If she had Isabela sex-cooties in her hair, they'd probably been there for ages and didn't seem to be doing her any harm.  She settled for heating up something warm to drink instead, hesitating over tea and then deciding with an evil grin and a mad cackling super-villain laugh to make coffee instead.  It had been ages and ages since she caught her sister in a snog, and there would be no quarter and no mercy, just a lot of grilling and giggling and regret over poor life choices.

* * *

 

 **Patsy:** I can't believe u ruined my first kiss with Hot Coffee Guy! D: Coming over rn and u better have some chocolate waitin 4 me

 **Bobby:** Well maybe if SOMEONE had TOLD me about Hot Coffee Guy, then MAYBE I wouldn't have interrupted. Bring your own damn chocolate

 **Bobby:**   j/k I have chocolate, who do you think this is

 **Patsy:** :/

* * *

 

Patsy must have forgotten her key; that, or she was passive-aggressively enjoying making the buzzer for the front entrance sound like the announcement of an alien invasion.

Well, given the excessive clomp-squish-clomp noise coming down the hall from the direction of the stairwell (Patsy had never forgiven her for moving in somewhere she had to climb three flights of stairs), it was probably the latter.  Paste-zilla stomped like she was trying to make small children cry and all the glasses in the cabinet rattle, frightened apartment denizens cowering in corners for fear of her wrath.  In reality, though, her neighbors would probably just assume it was thunder.

Patsy came in at long last, storming through the door in a flurry of wet clothes and squeaking sneakers, kicking them off without regard for where they landed.  As usual.  Bobby raised both brows and dried her hands on her pajama pants, expecting a long-winded tirade of moderate sense and logical progression, but Patsy just stared at her like she’d forgotten how to use words.

Rather than yell, her sister flattened herself face down on the couch, deflating like a sad pool animal.

Sometimes Patsy was just… so…  Well.  Bobby loved her sister, but if her own super power was the ability to intentionally or accidentally ignore everything, Patsy’s definitely was the amplification of drama.  Times a bajillion.

That wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy poking the metaphorical bear.  “Want some coffee?”

Patsy put up her middle finger.

Probably not, in retrospect, the nicest thing to say, but it was all sort of perfect and really who was she to let such an opportunity slide by without at  _least_  acknowledging it.  After all, what were sisters for?  Well, besides ruining her couch with their wet clothes. Coffee mug in one hand, Bobby meandered across the short distance between the tiny kitchen and the even tinier living room to drop a tea towel on her sister’s head.

“There there, Pastey. It can’t be  _that_  bad.”

“IT’S HORRIBLE.  I didn’t even go back after you went home, I just… left.  Now I have to quit my job.  Quit my job, and move to Antiva.”

Or maybe it _was_ bad.  Actually, given that it was Patsy, it was probably _twice_ as bad now as it was when she accidentally interrupted her smooch session with apron boy via grand entrance with cookie suit.

Maybe she felt a little guilty. Maybe. A tiny bit. As much as was possible given that her twin of 24 years (minus five minutes) had been keeping things from her. Important things too, things like tattooed boys with nice shoulders and - if the soundtrack playing in The Brewmother when she’d walked in was any indication - at least  _passable_  taste in music. They hadn’t tried to hide boy drama from each other since they were both crushing on the same guy with a boy band haircut in the third grade.

No judgment. Mistakes were made.

Heaving a huge sigh, Bobby plopped down on the floor near where her sister’s face was becoming one with the couch cushions. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about! That’s the whole point!”

Patsy moved her head so she could breathe and glanced at her sister. “I don’t even have his number! We’ve hardly talked because I’m the biggest nerd in Kirkwall and he’s just this sizzling hot _normal_  guy!” 

If the sad wookie noises currently being muffled by the couch cushions were any indication, the world was made of nothing but heartbreak and cold despair.  “He once pressed a ham to my face! And now I have a cookie sister…”

Right, like the cookie suit was really the _worst_ part of this situation.  Patsy pushed herself up into a sitting position, took the coffee mug from her sister, and immediately started complaining. “Why is there like a gallon of milk in this?”

Bobby wasn’t even going to dignify the milk comment with a response. If Paste-zilla here didn’t like how she made coffee, she could just go and make her own - or get some hot coffee guy to make it for her since  _apparently_  that’s how she was rolling these days and  _her poor uninformed twin_  wasn’t bitter at all.

Okay, slightly bitter. Just a tiny bit.

“First of all, I  _told_  you I was cold. Don’t hate on the suit, it’s not the suit’s fault that you’re apparently 100% paste.” Bobby huffed and turned away, only since she was on the floor it was more like 'spun away’ on her ass, to put her back to her sister.

“And  _another thing_ ,” she spun back around, paddling on the soles of her fuzzy unicorn slippers. “It serves you right! How could you not tell me! We’re twins and you don’t even bother to mention that there’s some hot guy in your life, pressing-” and here she flailed a little bit, both hands waving, coffee slopping over the side of her mug and onto the fabric of her pajama pants. “-a ham to your face, apparently? Please tell me that’s some kind of a euphemism for something Patsy, what is your love life.”

Patsy lifted the mug and let the steam waft over her face, closing her eyes for an overly long moment that made her sister immediately suspicious of what was going on in her head, and specifically whether or not it was a coffee-related porno. 

Her twin shook her head and put down her drink.  “I can’t drink this without thinking about _him_ , how _gentle_  his touch was, the curve of his lips as they pulled up into a smirk…  Anyway, it’s not a euphemism. I hurt my eye and the ham was cold, it just happened like that.” A dreamy smile appeared on her face. “I actually thought it was rather lovely, how he took care of me…”

If Bobby’s eyebrows rose any further, they were going to fly off her face and into the stratosphere.  “I’m starting to see why you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh shut up.  I don’t know why you don’t know about him… I guess I just never thought I’d have any chance with him, because you know… he’s… I mean you’ve _seen_  him, he’s gorgeous! And have you heard his voice? I just…it doesn’t matter anyway, because he probably realized that we have like nothing in common and that he can do soooo much better.”

Patsy rubbed her eyes in frustration, clearly forgetting that she was wearing mascara.  Bobby thought better of saying anything, but it was only too obvious.  Patsy looked down at her mascara-smeared fingers, and to her sister’s chagrin her eyes welled with tears, spilling down her cheeks and turning the raccoon problem into a full on sweaty-goth-kid-at-a-club disaster.

“I think I never told you because I really,  _really_  like him and I  _know_  how I am when it comes to dating, and the fewer the people who know, the fewer the people who will see me fail.”

“Chocolate?”  Bobby interjected desperately.  “This calls for chocolate.”

Bobby wouldn’t be a very good sister if she didn’t have an emergency stash of the good stuff on hand. Setting her mug down carefully on the coffee table, she got up and padded gamely to the cabinet next to the fridge that held all of her treasures, skipping over the M&Ms and the Hershey’s kisses and going straight for the Ferrero Rocher. If there was about to be sad whale noises and actual tears - from Patsy no less - in her apartment over a _boy,_ she was breaking out the big guns.

She didn’t even let Patsy get a word in edgewise, just unwrapping the first chocolate and popping it right in her mouth when it opened. “Chew.”

It was moments like these that you could really tell how significant the age difference between them was. There must be some relationship between dog years and twin minutes, because Bobby was  _definitely_  the eldest sister and most qualified adult, demanding Patsy hand over her wet hoodie and gross wet socks before things got out of hand and somebody started sobbing into a mushy tea towel.

“I’m not mad,” she said finally, sitting down with the box of chocolates in her lap, unwrapping another in preparation. “Okay, well, I  _am_ mad but, I mean… I get it. You like him and that is soooo adorable, but I swear to god Patricia if you say he can do better one more time I will punch you in the tit.”

 _“Fine.”_ Patsy sniffled, and Bobby waved the chocolate enticingly.  

Rather than taking the unwrapped chocolate, her twin took the entire box - typical - sullenly shoving candies in her mouth.  Bobby sighed and ate her own piece before it melted all over her hands, and curled up against her sister’s damp shoulder on the couch.

“Alright sister, tell me all about it.”


	5. Cookie vs. The ATM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby fights an ATM and meets someone new

"Tadaa!"

"Adorable."

"You didn't even look."

Jethann sighed and dog-eared his page in this month’s issue of _Vivienne_ , looking up resolutely as she re-struck her dramatic pose - with jazz hands! - purely for his benefit.  "Oh Bobby."

"What?"

"You really need to do something about-" he waved his hand in a vague circular motion. "This."

"You just gestured to all of me."

Well, more accurately he was gesturing to her choice of attire - namely one pair of extremely colorful Rainbow Brite leggings and an oversized cookie suit.

"I really need to talk to Sten about his choice in marketing.  I'm pretty sure this qualifies as crimes against humanity."

"Aww."  Bobby looked down at herself with a frown, planting her hands on her hips - or rather, her chips.  "I think it's cute!"

"Thank the Maker."

"You do.  Every Wednesday."

Jethann grinned, leaning over the counter with his chin in his hand.  "And I haven't once yet had to wear one of those horrible costumes. The Maker provides."

"I'm going to go tell Sebastian you said that."

He waggled his eyebrows.  "Oh please do.  You know I love it when he starts talking about sin, it makes me feel so -"

"You are a _horrible_ person." Bobby grinned.  "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, and handed her a tray of cookie samples.  "I'll love you more if we make today's sale's goal.  Daddy needs a new pair of Herrens."

* * *

 

The mall wasn't exactly teeming with life this time of day, but there weren't very many people who would say no to free cookies (except those bastards down at The TEAvinter Imperium, who looked at her like she was peddling actual leprosy and shoo-ed her away from the door with their creepy tea-stained fingers).  The tough looking guys down at Arishokcracy always loved a good snickerdoodle though - every single person who worked there was over six feet tall and had corresponding appetites, which meant that Bobby very happy (and let's be real, also a tiny bit sorry) that she wasn't actually a giant sentient cookie.

Something to write about later, yes or yes? (Yes.)

Not that the internet needed yet another smutty fanfic about who knows what (probably space marines), but it was about twenty-seven million times more preferable to the idea of filling out the applications for graduate school that her mother had _so kindly, so generously_ left on the doorstep of her apartment.

She meant to start working on those, really she did, but - you know.  Life.  Work.  Busy.  Things to see, people to - wait.  Not strictly accurate, but no one had to know that.   Besides, judging people was rude.  No one knew her life.

Well, except for Patsy probably, but it wasn't like her sister really had much room to talk.  No one who went on 72-hour video game binges had any room to talk about anything.

Bobby smiled fondly as she thought about her twin, dreamily ignoring the confused glances of a group of teens who broke apart their mall-roving pack to stream around the obstruction of her costume.   _Oh Patsy._

Actually, if the giant clock made of feathers and what looked like bottle caps and rusty keys hanging inside Idunna's Exotic Wonders from the East - _what exactly was 'eastern' about that?  Were the bottle caps from the east?  The feathers? Had someone in the theoretical 'east' had a terrible idea that they then decided to ship west?  All pressing questions_ \- had the correct time, it was just about her lunch hour.  Patsy was probably still hanging around inside L3V3L UP with Isabela, failing at Dragon Kong and yelling at eighth graders on the internet.

Predictably the gaming store was loud, packs of unwashed teenagers hovering suspiciously around racks of comics and clustering in front of gaming consoles.  Summer was in full swing and no one under the age of twenty-one could ever seem to find things to do in this town.  Not that it mattered that it was summer really - the halls of Kirkwall High were always terribly empty with all the students who cut class (something she had never done, n-e-v-e-r); she was surprised Aveline didn't have the truant officer on speed dial, though at least most of the kids had the sense to duck into shops when they saw her zoom by on her official Mall Security segway.

They made short work of her samples anyway; she stood still as the hungry horde picked the last of her tray clean.  "You wanna get some lunch?"

Patsy, face deep in a match of Mario Kart, didn't even look up.  "One more round."

She glanced at Isabela, who was lounging behind the counter with her feet up on the glass, reading the newest issue of _Amazons From Space_.  She waved a hand.  "Just bring me back some fries from Horns Up."

"Okay!"  Getting to have lunch with twin and friends every day was honestly one of the best things about working at the mall.  "Let me just go and get some cash, I'll be right back."

"Blobby."  She turned to look at Patsy, who had put down her controller long enough to look her sister up and down and slowly shake her head.  "At least lose the headgear?"

"What? Oh, right."  Bobby reached up and pulled off the headband she was wearing, attached to a foam block shaped like a giant chocolate chip.  She put both it and her tray on the counter near Isabela's feet.  "Okay, be right back!"

 _"Maker,"_ her twin sounded exasperated.  "She's like a walking emoticon."

She didn't hear what Isabela said in response - _probably something nicer,_ _jerk twin_ \- but two could play at that game.  After listening to Pastey talk at length about Hot Coffee Guy and watching her try to flood the apartment with her tears - which was kind of disturbing honestly, the last time she had seen her sister cry was probably during the midnight screening of the last Harry Potter - she'd promised not to try to help or interfere.   (Or as her sister said, "throw glitter at it" - which was just rude, she hadn't touched glitter in a solid couple of days, come on).

Well.  What were sisters for?  Especially _older_ sisters.

Luckily Fenris was busy with customers when she passed by the cafe so she didn't stop to talk, only stood ominously on the other side of the glass window and stared at him until he noticed her, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then in his direction like one of those guys in the mobster movies.

Helping.  She was _such_ a good helper.

Eh heh heh.

She practically skipped over to the bank, hands digging into the voluminous costume for the tiny pocket where she stored her wallet and keys to the store.  This Hot Coffee Guy thing - as much as she hated seeing her twin upset - was a veritable goldmine of material.  Bobby wasn't much of a troll, but on the very rare occasion she would make an excep-

Wait, no no no, _what is happening?_

There was an angry beeping sound and the machine made a whir and a click and told her to have a nice day.

Without giving her any money.

Or her card.

"Excuse me?!"  Obviously the answer was to start pressing buttons at random, and her stomach took that very inopportune moment to growl and loudly remind her of the fact that - yet again - she'd skipped breakfast.

Proper breakfast.

Chocolate chip cookie dough should count as breakfast!

Dammit, this must be karma.  This is what she got for teasing Patsy, for ruining her weird pseudo-mall date.

"Who goes on a date at the mall," she said out loud to the uncaring visage of the ATM.  "I mean?!  I'll feed you more money soon I promise, I just need to feed me first!"

The machine didn't budge and no new on-screen messages appeared, and her stomach growled and really she tried not to but the siren lure of agonized wookie noises was just too strong. They bubbled up in her throat as she threw both arms around the machine.

"Can I assist you, miss?"

She was somewhere circa the floor when a shiny pair of leather shoes appeared on the edge of her vision.  They belonged to a clean pressed suit, crisp shirt and gray tie that were vacillating between amusement and alarm, moving to help her up and then awkwardly shuffling when she shot to her feet.

"Oh!  Um.  Well, the machine.  It ate my card.  And didn't give me any money."  She wasn't sure which part she was more upset about honestly; probably the money part.  Food wasn't going to buy itself and she could always sort out the card situation later.  At some point.  Like tomorrow. 

The suit paused for a moment and then gave a soft sort of laugh, almost like it was relieved.  "Ah, I see."  It leaned over her for a moment to tap an option on the screen, briefly entering a series of numbers on the keypad.  Chagrined, the machine spit out her card and her cash.  "Easy fix.  Just try and take out money in larger transactions, rather than-"

She'd stopped listening at 'easy fix', bouncing happily when he handed over her things.  Food, ohmigod _FOOD_.  SOON.  NOW.

Bobby flung her arms around the baffled suit, banging her head into its astonished clavicle and bounded away without really even noticing.  "Okay I will, THANK YOU SO MUCH YAY!"

Cookie: 1, ATM: 0


	6. Cullen vs. The Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen is bad at flirting, and Zevran hatches a plan

"Have a nice day?"

Cullen hadn't meant for it to come out like a question, but then he also hadn't expected to be hugged by a giant cookie.  She wasn't listening anyway, leaving him in the wake of a pair of rainbow stockings and the smell of freshly baked snickerdoodles.  He wasn't entirely sure what was going on with the costume, but he'd just been ambush-hugged by a pretty girl on his first day at this branch of the bank, so he was cautiously prepared to say that things were going well.

He wished he’d gotten her name though.  It was on the receipt the machine spit out after her transaction, which he’d conscientiously retrieved for her when it was clear she wasn’t going to come back, but it went against his professional sense of client privacy to peek at it.

So tempting, though.  He took it inside to shred.

Zevran was behind the counter, flirting shamelessly with Lirene from one of the shops down the way as he wrapped up her deposit, glancing over at Cullen as he straightened his tie and jacket in the faintly reflective surface of his computer screen.  

He leaned over and took one good sniff at Cullen’s lapel before his handsome face broke into a grin.  “Ah, I see you’ve met our sweet cookie girl.  I would know that smell anywhere.”

Everything Zevran said sounded like innuendo and Cullen had grown used to the phenomenon (more or less, less on some days than others apparently), but something about this particular statement made his face flush red.  “I see.”  

Zevran had been at this branch a grand total of three weeks before Cullen had transferred to take over as manager, and he was zero percent surprised that the man had already made ‘friends’ with half the mall.  Cullen wasn’t going to pursue it further - had no intention of doing so, at least, and yet he found himself hesitating over her receipt before he took a deep breath and tucked it into an envelope instead of dumping it in the shredder.

“You don’t by chance know- that is to say, she left her receipt in the machine, and-”  He stopped.  His ears were on fire and his face and, Maker help him, even his hair felt hot, and Zevran was looking at him with this very annoying sort of _knowing_ expression that made Cullen regret every life choice that had led him to this moment. 

To his credit, Zevran only raised both perfectly groomed eyebrows and took a sip of his freshly brewed espresso.  “She works at Sten’s Cookies, perhaps you should go and… introduce yourself.  Plus,” he lowered his voice to a gleefully conspiratorial whisper, “I think she is single.”

Which he hadn’t asked.  Or thought of.  At all.

“Maybe I will,” Cullen said stiffly, tucking the envelope in his pocket and relieved beyond measure when another customer came in through the door.  “Maybe I will.”

* * *

 

This was a stupid idea, what had he been thinking?  He hadn’t so much as ventured over to the opposite side of the mall in the handful of times he’d been by to check out the build on the new location, and he hadn’t thought to find a map kiosk until he’d taken himself down the wrong corridor and ended up dead ending at Jean Luc’s.

Idiot.  The food court was _right there_.

It had cleared out significantly in the early afternoon, almost quiet in that briefly dead period that he assumed came before an after-work rush.  They were creeping up on a holiday weekend, and everyone seemed to be in a hurry to finish their business before everything was closed for a day.  Cullen never really understood the concept of a shopping emergency, but his sister insisted it was real and Mia, as he’d been forced to acquiesce on more than one occasion, was usually correct.

Now that he’d managed the food court, it was relatively easy to follow the smell of baked goods to the little shop on the edge of the row of restaurants, racks upon racks of sweets behind glass, arranged enticingly below a sign that read Sten’s Cookies.

He almost didn’t recognize her without the cookie suit.  She looked a lot smaller without it, brown hair pulled into a ponytail under a red cap, wearing a baggy t-shirt that read ‘Keep Calm and Eat a Cookie’.  Cullen wasn’t sure if it was a work thing or if she just really felt strongly about cookies until he noticed that her blonde coworker was wearing one also, slouching against the back wall, fingers a mile a minute on his cell phone.

There wasn’t much of a line, just one person ahead of him, so he waited, one hand in his pocket around the envelope where he’d secured her receipt.

This was _so_ foolish.  What was he doing?  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous to talk to a woman - a _person_ \- and this was business.  Sort of.  Mostly.  Mostly sort of business, and not at all because he was some sort of creepy stray who, given the slightest encouragement, would follow you home.

That was not - _definitely_ not -

He put that out of his mind immediately, managing to corral his thoughts back into the Pandora’s box of his brain.

In front of him a young man with a terrible bowl cut was leaning far too far over the counter toward the cookie girl, one skinny elbow propped clumsily on the edge of the glass case next to him.  He seemed oblivious to the fact that she was trying to get him to take his change, smiling politely as he… flirted?  Was that what was happening here?

Maker, if this was how young people did things he was _much_ older than he realized. Not that he was old exactly, just -

He cleared his throat, exactly like an old man would, and at least found some wan pleasure in the way the young man jumped up, straightening as though he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie ja- _ugh, Maker._ There was a small amount of immature satisfaction he derived from watching the teen snatch his change out of her hand and scurry away but he immediately felt bad about it, stepping back to avoid seeming like he was looming.

He didn’t think she noticed at all.  She was laughing, wiping down the glass where the kid’s elbow had left a smudge as nonchalantly as if it happened every day, and looked up to blind him with a smile.  “What can I get you?”

 _Oh no._  He could feel himself start to go a little red when she seemed not to recognize him, the easy smile he was going for fading into something disjointed and flustered and altogether unprofessional.

Professional - yes, that, right.  Just stick to business, he told himself, fingers groping for the envelope in his pocket.  It crumpled a bit before he managed to retrieve it, holding it out to her with no explanation until she stared at him, reaching out to take it with a befuddled look on her face.

“Ah, yes, um- you left that.  Earlier.  At the bank.  In the machine?”

“Oh!” It took a moment for comprehension to dawn, but when it did she laughed, opening the envelope and shoving her receipt in the pocket of her jeans.  “Right, you helped me earlier didn’t you?  Should have recognized the suit.”

Yes the- suit.  The suit?  Really?  Despite himself he looked down, considering the gray fabric of his jacket and pants.  Not the most exciting color, granted, and his blue-gray tie did make things sort of monotone, and -  alright, fair enough.  He wasn’t Zevran, who could make anything look both purposeful and attractive by just being in its general vicinity.  And maybe gray on gray was sort of boring, but he was the bank manager for crying out loud, he was supposed to look professional.  

Or something.

“Sweet of you to come all the way down here just to drop this off.”  She was beaming and it was entirely disconcerting, especially because he was guessing they both knew he could have just thrown the receipt away.  She didn’t say anything to that effect though, so maybe not, though he had a less than sneaking suspicion that her co-worker knew _exactly_ what misguided decision-making had lead him down to this end of the mall.  The blonde was still texting away but Cullen was certain it was either a ruse or a reflex; he was definitely being watched.

“All part of the job,” he managed, trying for nonchalant and ending up somewhere in the realm of stick-up-his-ass.  He could practically hear Mia’s voice in the back of his mind, saying _chill out Cullen, you’re starting to look like dad_ \- which of course was not in any way helpful and really only made him more anxious.  Desperately he looked around for something, anything, a prop, an escape hatch, an impromptu rescue party.  

“I had to come down here anyway,” he lied, lied, lied through his teeth even as he put on what he hoped was some kind of smile.

* * *

 

 **Jethann:** Did you send this giant nerd boy down here to flirt with my cookie?

 **Zevran:** It is possible I may have provided a gentle, shall we say, nudge in that general direction

 **Jethann:**   He's cute, I ship it

 **Zevran:**   It goes well?

 **Jethann:** If 'well' means 'awkward' then yes, very well

 **Jethann:** I am in actual pain

 **Zevran:** So, he is rusty.I find him quite charming. Perhaps some work on his 'game' is required

 **Jethann:**  This is Bobby Hawke we're talking about, a hammer and a flow chart is required

 **Zevran:** She is 'one tough cookie'

 **Jethann:** Go home

* * *

 

Zevran didn’t even blink as Cullen slunk back into the bank, sliding a paper bag across the desk at him before disappearing into the restroom in the back.  Cullen didn’t shut the door and he could hear water running, faint sounds of splashing and what was unmistakably some kind of groan.

“Go well then, did it?”  He asked innocently, upending the bag of cookies into the dish they usually used for candies and arranging them as though this was all completely normal.  Ah, snickerdoodles.  Excellent choice.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Cullen came back out a moment later, without his jacket, drying his hands on a paper towel.  His tie was loose and askew and he automatically straightened it, almost as though to do so was reflex, and Zevran for the tenth time today had to restrain himself from shaking his head.  An attractive man, tall, well groomed, with an excellent body if he did say so himself (as he was the expert on such things, naturally) - and delightfully, not a fool.  Someone - several someones perhaps - ought to enjoy such a man, and it was a pity that this was not the case.

The jacket went back on, buttons done up stiffly and it was all he could do not to sigh, leaning casually on the countertop and spinning the dish of cookies thoughtfully.  Despite the rigid way he held himself, it was only a matter of time before Cullen gave in and confided -

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”  There it was.

“I am certain it could not be so bad.”

Cullen, tellingly, didn’t say a word, hitting numbers on his keypad with the grim determination of a man swimming against his own current.

“Perhaps tomorrow?” Zevran offered.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Cullen repeated dispiritedly, taking the opportunity to snatch up the first customer who came in, though he cringed a little when Zevran offered her a cookie.

He ought to text Isabela too, just to be sure.  This called for an intervention - or a party.


	7. Patsy vs. The Cupcake (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our awkward heroes attend a party.

“I can’t believe you brought cupcakes.”

“Well!”  Bobby protested, hugging her cupcake carrier as closely to her chest as she could without upsetting the treats inside.  “It’s polite.  Or something.”

“You just can’t help yourself can you.   _Oh, there’s a party,”_   Patsy mimicked, hands in her pockets on the way up the walk toward Zevran’s apartment.  Definitely in a nicer neighborhood than either of them lived in.   _“Let me fill it with sugar and glitter.”_

“They’re sangria flavored?”

“Do you even have a life that doesn’t include Pinterest?”

“Way harsh, Tai.”

Patsy reached out and hooked an arm around her sister’s neck, pulling her into something half a hug and half a wrestling maneuver, and Bobby elbowed her sister lightly in the side.  She peeled away long enough to slip through the door that the doorman (an actual doorman) held open for her and smile her thanks, before turning and sticking her tongue out at her twin from behind his back.

Extremely mature, as always.

The inside of Zevran’s building was even nicer than the neighborhood outside, the lobby very sleek and modern looking in a way that reminded her of a James Bond movie.  There was even a water feature; she exchanged a look with her twin, shaking her head over it and feeling as though they’d wandered into the wrong building.  Patsy eloquently shrugged.

They heard the festivities before they even got out of the elevator, attendees spilling out into the hallway in a way that reminded her of awkward parties in dorm rooms where everybody was drinking but no one was actually supposed to have alcohol.  Zevran met them at the door looking, as usual, as though he’d fallen graceful out of the pages of Antivan GQ.  His long blond hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail, black silk shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest beneath a black suit jacket casually rolled to the elbows, revealing the golden tan of well muscled chest and forearm.

“Ah my delightful twins, welcome to my humble abode,” he declared magnanimously, effortlessly divesting Bobby of her cupcake tray and sweeping in to plant kisses on both of her cheeks before greeting Patsy the same way.  “Lovely Patricia, now the party can truly begin.  Please, make yourselves comfortable, my home is yours.”

His home was, frankly, amazing, sharing the same sort of modern construction as the lobby downstairs.  Everything was smooth and slick and sort of shiny, expensive looking and probably entirely too good for the sorts of weirdos who worked at the mall. Well, except for Isabela naturally, who had superpowers when it came to looking like she perfectly fit in anywhere she happened to be.  A handful of the posh looking shop girls from Madame de Fer were lounging in their designer dresses and stilettos on the black leather couch that looked like it had been stolen right out of the VIP section at a fancy club, low marble coffee table with its single orchid in a vase and all.  She felt Bobby immediately start to wander and pulled her in the opposite direction, toward the sprawling kitchen with its shiny chrome appliances where a small cluster of people had gathered.

“Aveline!” her sister exclaimed, delighted and immediately distracted, rushing in to throw her arms around the tall redhead.  “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

At her side Donnic laughed, ducking his head to hide it and muffling a smile behind the mouth of his beer bottle.  Aveline shot him an irritable glance and merely sighed.  “I didn’t either, and yet here I am.”

“Well I’m glad, it’s good to see you out of uniform!” Not that Aveline ever looked terribly different.  She had the sort of demeanor that would turn even a ballgown into a uniform of some kind and, in her navy polo shirt buttoned up to the very top button over sternly pressed black slacks, she looked like a slightly more relaxed version of herself on the job.  At least she hadn’t tucked the shirt in.  That was progress.

Patsy settled into a spot next to Donnic, putting her back against the large island that dominated the space in front of the range and refrigerator.  Everything was so shiny and clean looking that she was able to see most of the room behind her in reflection.  Not that she was looking for anything in particular.  Naturally.  Though if she just so happened to see a glimpse of white hair and tanned skin and hotness, well, she’d be obligated to go over and say hello.

Oh no, she’d be obligated to go over and say hello.  She was sort of hoping that he would be here but who was she kidding, Fenris was  _way_  too cool, he would probably never -

She could feel the distressed dinosaur noises welling up in the back of her throat, and must have silently flailed and disturbed the Force because her sister looked over at her sharply mid-conversation with Donnic and lifted an eyebrow.  Patsy shook her head subtly and chewed her bottom lip.  No one needed to know what a weird awkward nerd she was being, and there was  _no_  way she wanted to deal with questions.  Bobby must have sensed what she was doing though and also scanned the crowd - though of course without any sort of subtlety, stupid Blobster.  Patsy kicked her lightly in the shin.

Aveline of course rolled right on without them, complaining about something involving wild mall hooligans that had Bobby smiling into her hand, biting down on her fingers to keep from laughing out loud.  They loved Aveline of course, but she had a tendency to make things sooo serious.

“Anyway, how are the graduate school applications coming Roberta? Your mother said-”

“Oh how rude of me!” Donnic cut in suddenly, a touch too loud.  Aveline stopped and stared at him.  “Girls, have you been introduced to Cullen?  He just transferred over to the bank!”

Patsy, who under most circumstances could not be prevailed upon to care about these kinds of things but who still recognized an exclamation point-laden life raft when she saw one, turned and stared at the uncomfortable looking blond.  He’d been standing quietly next to Donnic before she’d swooped in and stolen his spot, and now he sort of  _lingered,_  uncomfortable looking, too tall to really lean with an elbow on the countertop on Bobby’s other side but trying to do it anyway.  He straightened immediately when all eyes turned toward him, looking startled.

“Cullen works with Zevran at the bank - did I already say that?”  Donnic laughed awkwardly and took a nervous swig of his beer, trying not to make eye contact with his girlfriend who was staring at him like he’d just sprouted a second head.

Cullen looked at all of them sort of desperately, gaze bouncing back and forth before he hazarded a wary, “Hello.”

“Hi Cullen!” Bobby said brightly, obviously 100% game to talk to and about anything that wasn’t a sad chronicle of her lack of desire to go back to school.  “Nice to meet- oh wait,” she laughed.  “We’ve met haven’t we?  I almost didn’t recognize you without a tie.”

If anything Cullen looked even more miserable, though he made a valiant effort not to let it show - something Patsy was intimately familiar with, having been grooming a poker face for her mother’s benefit since the age of seven.

“You look less round than I remember.  I mean, without the cookie suit,” he tried to recover, and immediately looked as though he probably shouldn’t have said anything at all, but as always her sister was completely oblivious - Bloblivious even - laughing as though it had actually been a joke that actually had managed to be funny.  

Patsy rolled her eyes, cutting in to introduce herself and her twin, mostly just to give the guy a break.  He’d gone a bit red about the ears and would no doubt be looking for the nearest exit to free himself from this pit of awkward pterodactyl flails he’d wandered into, and she needed him to stay and help Donnic distract Aveline so she could be on the lookout for Fenris.

 _I mean, what - no, that’s not -_    


* * *

 

Why he let Merrill talk him into these things, he would never know.  

They weren’t even friends, really - well.  Except for how they talked at least in some regard almost every single day.  And the way she took care of that neglected plant in his kitchen (true, it was just a cactus but somehow it still managed to give off a vibe of neglect that summoned Merrill on a biweekly basis like magic).  And the way she was always asking about his short stories, and how she would let him ramble on at her for hours about some obscure historical occurrence or other, and -

Alright, fine.  Technically they were friends.  He guessed.  If such a thing with such a cheerful person was even possible.

They probably wouldn’t have been friends if she hadn’t hired him on at The Brewmother. Then again there were a lot of things that probably wouldn’t be happening in his life without the Kirkmall.  He certainly wouldn’t be fussing at his t-shirt, staring at himself in an entirely too-clean elevator on the way to some work party full of… people.  From work.  Work people.

And maybe -

Fenris cut that thought short as the elevator doors opened.  He was not, under any circumstances, excited at the prospect of seeing Patsy again.  Because that would be stupid.  And uncool. Which went against his naturally high levels of coolness.

Maker, who was he kidding, he was extremely not cool.

“Smile Fenris, you’re going to scare everyone!”  Merrill admonished, but so brightly it barely seemed like a rebuke and he withheld the urge to twist his face up into some kind of intentionally horrible approximation of a smile and just looked at her, skipping with annoying positivity down the hall toward Zevran’s apartment.

Tiny cyclone of disaster.  Ugh, this woman.

He took a deep breath and followed her into the crowd.  He’d never been in Zevran’s place before - had only met the man a few weeks ago, in fact, but Zev had this way about him that made you feel like he had known you for years.  Fenris found it slightly disconcerting, or at least was disconcerted about not being _more_ disconcerted.  The blond Antivan was just entirely too likeable, and judging by the way a small throng of people had gathered around him in the center of the room, Fenris wasn’t the only one who thought so.

He broke away seamlessly to greet them, firmly shaking Fenris’ hand and turning Merrill around so that her dress flared out around her.  She laughed and cluelessly said something so thick with innuendo that Fenris couldn’t even process it, evoking a deep laugh from their host and wink that Fenris didn’t quite know how to respond to, merely trailing after them into the room.  

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself; he didn’t want to sit because then he wouldn’t be able to _see_ \- not that that was at all important.  Zevran’s apartment was sort of blinding and shiny, the walls of the main room lined with what looked like dark-tinted mirrors.  It made the room look enormous - too big, he thought, to justify calling it the ‘living room’, and it was decorated so neatly it didn’t seem as though anything spent a lot of time actually _living_ in this room anyway - with the side benefit of being able to see absolutely everything.

That was dangerous, actually.  He had a penchant for people-watching anyhow, and it would be far too easy to get caught up in looking for -

That was to say, should he happen to see -

Ugh, he might as well just admit it.  He was desperate to see Patsy again after their almost-but-not-quite-kiss in The Brewmother nearly a week ago, and Merrill told him that Isabela said she would be here.  Things had gone from so awful to so perfect to so awful again that he felt surprisingly dedicated to trying to redeem himself.  There was no way he could do worse than his two-orange-aprons-plus-tea-towel combination after all, with or without the addition of a giant cookie suit.

Oh no.  If Patsy was here that probably meant Bobby was also, and he still wasn’t sure whether or not he was being trolled or was in actual danger of being killed in a dark parking lot by a disapproving sibling.  He almost panicked, clutching a bottle of beer that had somehow materialized in his hand, and just turned himself toward a wall, inadvertently joining Merrill in a group of hippies from So Faded, momentarily overwhelmed by the scent of patchouli and weed.

Merrill looked over at him and patted his arm encouragingly, seeming unwantedly sympathetic, and Fenris just sighed, resigning himself to some kind of purgatory.  
  


* * *

 

“Is that really a good idea?”  Bobby frowned as her sister completely ignored her, standing at the wet bar filling a glass of ice more than halfway with rum, topped with an insignificant splash of Coke.  “Oh yes, that’ll help.  You probably didn’t even have dinner, did you?”

Patsy, not at all deterred by her sibling’s dubious expression or line of questioning, reached over to snatch one of the few remaining cupcakes off the bar.  Zevran had produced a fancy looking silver tray from one of his cabinets of wonder and they looked amazing, so professional - and so ironic given the amount of shit that her twin had given her on the bus ride over for her tendency to accidentally cater other people’s parties via unsolicited baked goods.

“Really?”

Patsy took a huge exaggerated bite and Bobby just sighed.  “I see how it is.”

“You betcha,” her sister replied, only it sounded more like ‘oo etta’, washing the cupcake down with a huge swallow of what was basically cleverly disguised rum.  “Not bad, sister.”

“Glad you approve, drunkasaurus rex.”

“What did you say?”

Bobby smiled innocently, drumming her fingers on the side of her own half-full beer bottle.  “Nothing sis.”

“Is she going to be alright?”  Cullen asked, leaning down to speak quietly into her ear.  He sounded unsure, which was probably legitimate because this was Pastey McPaste they were talking about and really when was it _ever_ alright?  There was no way this could possibly go wrong.

“She’ll be fine,” she reassured, patting his shoulder comfortingly and not meaning a word of it.  Cullen did not look like he believed her in the slightest, probably because Patsy was already halfway through her glass, and he hovered for a moment with her hand on his arm as though he wanted to say something else, before straightening up again.

Suddenly it was as if the Maker had sent down lightning to punish Pastey for all the pastey things she'd done in her life - her sister's eyes nearly bugged out of her head and she put down her glass with much more force than necessary.  Before Bobby could ask her what's wrong, Patsy shoved the entire cupcake into her mouth - and then naturally started choking because not even the winner of The Kirkmall’s Big Cupcake Eating Competition could handle that much cake.  

Desperate for air, Patsy looked around, choking and making distressed wookie noises simultaneously. It would have been hilarious - if she wasn't actually worried for her sister’s life.

Frantically Bobby started pounding on her back - which she wasn’t sure you ought to do if a person is choking and you didn’t happen to fully trust your grasp of the Heimlich maneuver - but since the choking stopped she assumed it was helping.  

She was just looking over for support from Cullen - who had, very helpfully actually, slipped away and returned with a bottle of water - when she saw that he had a big, wet spot of half chewed cupcake on his shirt and almost completely lost it, struggling to hold back her laughter as she continued to hammer on Patsy’s back.  Patsy didn't even notice that she'd sprayed cupcake mush all over the kitchen and polite boys in pressed trousers - instead she went straight back to her drink and dumped the rest of it down her throat as if the alcohol would burn away the leftover crumbs in her lungs.

"Maker's blueberry pancakes, are you alright sis?" Patsy just gave her a thumbs up, breathing deeply. Her eyes darted nervously to a spot across the room and - oh.

Hot Coffee Guy had arrived, and apparently he was worth choking to death over. She should have known.  
  


* * *

 

Patsy took long, big gulps from her rum ‘n coke, trying to recover from her near death experience. Shoving the cupcake down her throat... because clearly that was the best way to get rid of the evidence that what? That she ate cupcakes on occasion? Fenris sold her a cookie almost every day, he probably already head an inkling that she liked sweets. She’d seen him and panicked, okay? It happened.

But he was here now! Looking a bit sullen alongside Merrill’s chipper self, though standing next to the weirdos from that weed store ( _weed_ os, heh heh), she’d probably be grumpy as well. This was her moment! She’d swoop in like some kind of non-weed-smoking superhero and he’d be so grateful, he’d forget all about the cookie suit incident and how she’d once again ignored him afterwards.

Fueled by determination and maybe rum, she took another deep breath. “I’m going in.” Okay, just one more biiiiiiiig sip from her glass, for luck. She nodded to her sister, who was apparently busy admiring the grey-on-grey pattern on Cullen’s shirt anyway - an interesting development she’d have to store in her brain for later examination. Right now, she was a woman on a mission. A mission to not completely fuck up a conversation with Fenris. How hard could that be? Hahaaaaa…

Patsy moved her head from side to side and shook her shoulders, as she’d seen people do during some of the … _sports_ games she’d been forced to watch with Carver. _Alright, time to say hi. You can do it, Patsy! ‘Hello’, would be fine as well. Don’t make puns! Stop giving yourself pep talks and go over there, for fuck’s sake._

She’d never quite mastered Isabela’s enticing saunter (okay, she’d tried once and ended up stumbling over her own feet) and Fenris wasn’t even looking her way anyway, so she opted for a casual, absolutely normal walk. Suddenly, she became very self- conscious about the way she walked. Was it possible to fail at walking? She sometimes felt a weird dragging pain in her right knee, maybe she put her feet down wrong? Or too many computer games and not enough exercise, but that was a ridiculous idea. Fenris and Merrill were getting closer, she should go over what she wanted to say to him again. _‘Hi Fenris!’ Good, very natural._

She’d almost reached her destination when a coughing aftershock hit her. Short and intense, it left her with a few disgusting crumbs of cupcake stuck to the inside of her right hand. _Why do bad things happen to good people? WHY WERE THERE NO NAPKINS AROUND?_

“Oh, hello! I’m Merrill from the Brewmother, I’ve seen you around a lot!”

Naturally, Merrill chose this moment to turn around and spot her, closing the last distance between them and dragging Fenris with her. She held out her hand for Patsy to shake and Patsy stared at it, heart beating painfully in her chest. What to do? She could hardly press her gross cupcake chunks against Merrill’s hand and then pretend like that was a normal thing to do. Simply not shaking hands would be rude. WHAT TO DO?

Patsy did the only thing she could think of - she pulled Merrill into a hug while desperately trying not to leave slobber on her super cute flower-print dress. Halfway through the hug she realised that now she’d also have to hug Fenris. Well, not as casual as a ‘Hi’, but she’d just have to power through. When she let Merrill go, she turned to Fenris, gave him her best smile and caught a glance of his eyes widening in shock as she put her arms around him. _Oh no_ , he smelled good. Isabela could’ve probably identified if he was wearing after-shave and which one. Why was Isabela not here yet anyway, her Love Doctor senses should be _screaming_ from all the desperation Patsy was sending off into the universe. And she was still hugging Fenris - his arms had been at her back for a little while and now they awkwardly hung at his sides, _obviously not expecting her to keep this hug going for so long_.

She finally released him, trying to morph her face into a nonchalant expression. Yes, she didn’t actually know 100% what ‘nonchalant’ meant, but it was probably _the opposite_ of how she was feeling.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but there’s someone I really need to talk to over there! See you around!”

And gone was Merrill, leaving Fenris and Patsy alone to awkwardly stare at each other. Usually she handled awkward silences at parties by taking a sip or five of her drink, but she didn’t take it with her. There was only sweat and CUPCAKE MUSH in her hands, oh god the mush, it was still there. Why did she opt for light grey jeans instead of black? Well, anyway, back to the mission!

“So, how was your day? Brewed a lot of coffee?”

“Sure. I mean, no… It’s Sunday, the mall is closed.”

“Yes, of course! A lot of closed mall this week, huh? At least it’s not storming today!”

_Excellent, go and bring up the storm disaster to further the awkward._

Fenris took a sip of his beer instead of answering, this was not good! Patsy was running all the “non-nerdy conversation topics” she’d looked up before the party through her mind. Just in case, you never knew when you ended up talking to someone you didn’t want to subject to you being a huge nerd incapable of talking about anything other than her interests and so you sit there in front of a gorgeous guy with a lovely voice and he has to talk with you about _Star Wars_ , because _somehow_ that is the only thing you have in common and why did she find it so hot when he’d talked about it what was wrong with her.

Okay, what had been at the top of the list of 101 Conversation Starters? She couldn’t really remember but anything was better than just _staring_.

“Tell me about your first car.”


	8. Patsy vs. The Cupcake (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where some people get closer to each other... and some others get -very- close!

Well that had gone - interestingly.

Growing up, his mother was always intoning things about _helping_ , being _helpful_ and, when he got older, delivering her lines with a twinkle in her eye that implied that his partners would appreciate it.  He didn't consider himself to be overly swayed by his mother's often dubious wisdom, though with these things - much like his sister Mia - she tended to be right.

He wasn't entirely sure, however, that this is the sort of result she had intended. He wasn't certain of exactly what to do here either, holding his shirt away from his torso with two fingers, mushy chunks of cupcake glinting wetly from the light grey fabric.  Probably going to stain.

It wasn't as though he couldn't afford to lose the shirt - he had, as Zevran pointed out on more than one occasion, several more exactly like it - but a giant splotch of purple cupcake didn't exactly leave him at his best, and he was trying to -

Trying to what exactly, Cullen - impress her?  By doing what, standing around awkward and silent while she talked with her sister and their friends?  He was not particularly good at getting to know people on a personal level; it was something he had always struggled with, never one to easily make friends or infiltrate the tight-knit circles he seemed to see everywhere.  Frustrating, of course, but he was an adult, had compensated by being congenial and fastidious, and probably altogether boring.

Bobby was staring after her sister, a half amused, half skeptical look on her face, head slowly shaking back and forth.  She glanced over in his direction and he saw her freeze, eyes flicking from his face down to his ruined shirt as though gauging the severity of the situation.  He tried very hard to look impassive and unbothered, though it startled him completely when she put down the cupcake wrapper and glass her sister had flung at her and took his arm, dragging him toward the kitchen and then on toward one of Zevran's bathrooms when a rummage around the cabinets failed to turn up whatever she was looking for.

"Who doesn't have tea towels in their kitchen," she was saying, the words making very little sense to him because now they were suddenly together, alone, in a bathroom, which felt bizarrely intimate even though she hadn’t shut the door and there was a group of people right outside in the hallway going on and on about jousting.

“He probably has a maid,” she said thoughtfully.  “A sexy maid.”

Cullen just stared at her, having lost the thread of the conversation completely, still holding his shirt away from his body like some sort of daft -

He was about to sigh resignedly over himself yet again, but she hopped up onto the long countertop to sit between the two sinks and he almost choked on an invisible cupcake, reeled in close by fingers hooked into the pocket of his shirt.  That was - um - he could feel himself turning red by the inch, practically nose to nose with Bobby in this bathroom with cupcake on his shirt.  Her knees were very close to his, um, to the front of his pants and he started to step backward when she admonished him to hold still.

“I am so sorry about my sister, she is _so_ ,” Bobby made a disgusted noise that, ironically, made her sound very like her twin.  “Paste.”

She said the word like it was an established ‘thing’ and there was part of him that wanted to ask, but it turned out watching her slim fingers daintily pick mushy cake crumbs off his shirt with a piece of toilet paper required what ability to concentrate he had - what little was left after the effort it took not to move, breathe, or think anything untoward.  

He should probably formulate some sort of response, shouldn’t he, but the only thing he could seem to think to say was _It’s just a shirt_ , and he wasn’t sure if that would come off as dismissive or reassuring so he didn’t say anything at all.  And he didn’t want her to stop, which was - it didn’t make a lot of sense, certainly, there was absolutely nothing erotic about stain removal, and she had very delicate eyelashes.

Which was entirely beside the point.

Which he wasn’t sure what that was.  The point.  Was there a point?  He liked her lipgloss, pink and very feminine, and -

He closed the door on that thought abruptly, forcing his eyes up and away.  They landed on his own face in the mirror behind her, which was somewhat unsettling, reminding him firmly of how foolish he looked and prompting him to stiffen his spine and square his shoulders, straightening up where he had begun to lean toward her.  

Not appropriate, probably not particularly wanted, and - he almost came unglued completely when she undid one of the buttons on his shirt, slipping the pilfered towel between his skin and the fabric so she could dab the stain with water.  It reminded him suddenly that he still had his tie balled up in his jacket pocket, the somewhat indulgent (and yet entirely withering) look that Zevran had given him when he’d showed up at the door way too early still fresh in his memory.

He’d taken it off immediately, of course; unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt so it looked like he could breathe - though not as many as Zevran had encouraged initially, surreptitiously fastening one or two while his friend’s attention was elsewhere.  Zev might be able to get away with looking like he just stepped off a beach somewhere - a sexy, probably very fashionable beach - but Cullen would never be comfortable stumbling around feeling like he was half undressed.

Not that he was particularly comfortable in this moment either.  Maker, why couldn’t he think of anything to say - the silence in the room was deafening, made all the more austere by the raucous noise and music coming from the rest of the apartment.  

He should make a joke.  

Anyone could make jokes.

Anyone whose mind wasn’t full of white noise and despair.

He settled for clearing his throat awkwardly, which wasn't so much a choice as an involuntary reaction to the way it felt as though he had something lodged in his trachea and was slowly trying to suffocate him.  It made Bobby look up, catching him staring.  She didn’t seem to think anything of it, thankfully - if he grit his teeth any harder his jaw was going to crack - whipping the towel away and drying her hands.

“Good as new!  Well, almost.  But don’t worry, everyone will be too drunk soon to notice.”  She laughed and then folded her hands and the towel in her lap, staring up at him sort of expectantly.  He stared back at her for an overly long moment before he realized she was waiting for him to move so she could slide off the countertop.  That did make his ears burn, stepping back so hastily the hand towel bar on the wall behind him dug sharply into his back.

At least he managed not to be a complete rube and remembered to courteously offer her a hand down, which he was secretly (he hoped) thrilled that she accepted, her hand in his as her feet found the floor and she settled her long skirt around her legs.  His enthusiasm had nothing to do, he was sure, with the sudden desire to seize her by the waist and pick her up like a doll and mold her against the front of his body.

Which he would never do, ever, as it seemed like a terrible move out of one of his sister's horrible regency romance novels and he had a general policy of not proceeding with bad ideas he thought might get him slapped.

That, and it seemed disrespectful.  She was a woman, not a toy, wasn't even particularly small except in comparison to himself, who always seemed to feel the need to draw in, to constrain the amount of space he was taking up, all height and arms and shoulders.

“Ah - thank you,” he reminded himself to say, because it was polite and because he couldn’t think of anything else.  

“It’s no problem!” she said brightly, her smile clear and open and entirely unsuspicious - which he entirely did not deserve, rebuking himself sternly in silence.  The wet spot on his shirt was cold against his skin, more so when her warm fingers slipped away.  “It’s the least I could do.  My sister is such-”

“Paste?” he supplied without thinking.

She laughed and hooked her arm through his. “Now you’re getting it.”   


* * *

  
After several attempts at starting up a conversation (he had never owned a car, he didn't watch any sports and he preferred coffee to tea and that was that topic dealt with), Patsy went back to the kitchen to get something to drink and Fenris followed her, yearning for more alcohol himself and also not willing to just give up on talking to her like this. It had started out so well! She'd surprised him by greeting him with a hug that made him want to press his face against her neck and also maybe his lips against hers. He was glad she'd released him before he could continue those thoughts into territory where having their crotches pressed against each other would be more than awkward.

Patsy ignored the extensive assortment of fancy beer and went straight for the hard liquor. Fenris had started with beer because getting to hold a bottle in his hand seemed more comforting than one of Zevran's expensive looking glasses, but some rum sounded pretty good right now.

"Rum and coke?"

He nodded and watched her fill the glass halfway up with rum and add a little splash of coke, more of an afterthought than an essential part of the drink. Okay then! They clinked glasses and she turned around to toast the other people standing in the kitchen. It seemed like he'd thoroughly botched his opportunity for a one-on-one conversation.

"Hell no I wouldn't vote for him," the redhead standing next to the refrigerator exclaimed emphatically, voice rising slightly out of the blue - or just on the edge of his attention. Not that he was by any means distracted, though a sip of his drink woke him up quite a bit, wincing slightly at the strong taste of the rum that the splash of coke did absolutely nothing to cover. He was pretty sure, upon a second assessment, that this was the segway-riding security officer he referred to in his head as Mall Cop Lady. It was strange seeing her out of uniform, even stranger seeing her out of uniform at a party.

"You have to admit Aveline, Dumar has done a lot to keep peace in the streets," the man next to her was saying, whom Fenris belatedly realized was her partner. His voice was pitched perfectly evenly but the corner of his mouth quirked up in just the slightest, as though he was winding her up a bit just for fun.

"Bullshit he has," Mall Cop Lady - Aveline - snorted, taking a heavy swig out of her bottle. "If you placate street gangs all you get are more street gangs. They're like-" and here she stopped, seeming surprised by the lack of ready words. "Things that reproduce quickly. Rabbits."

Oh, politics,  _fantastic_. He had a lot of opinions about the upcoming election but had absolutely no desire to discuss them with random people at a party. Also, it was not a topic he'd consider tension breaking or, well, encouraging people to come closer together. Physically. Ahem.

Bobby, who had found herself a seat on a nearby counter top, feet dangling and heels drumming against the cabinet door, mouthed 'she's drunk' at her sister, gesturing fairly obviously despite putting a hand to the side of her mouth to block the shape of the words.

"Roberta," Aveline sounded almost wounded, naturally not fooled in the slightest by Bobby's poor attempt at misdirection. "I am not."

Completely undeterred, Bobby grinned and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. "Aveline, what's the one most important thing our society needs?"

Aveline scoffed, and beside him Patsy groaned. "Harsher punishments for parole violators, Bobby." She stopped, clearly considering. "And world peace."

The tall blond man standing next to Bobby looked down the mouth of his beer bottle, clearly trying not to laugh as she winked theatrically at her sister and gave her two thumbs up.

Why was everyone just letting this Aveline person ramble on instead of changing the topic? Maybe nobody else was as desperate to get to know *someone* better... not desperate, really, just... Oh, what rotten nugshit, who was he trying to fool. He wanted Patsy to look at him again, so he could look back at her and even awkward stares and drawn-out silences were preferable to no interaction at all. Star Wars, she liked Star Wars!

Patsy was brooding over her drink, listening to Aveline ramble on about an... election, maybe? What election? Did she have to vote soon? She should know these things, ugh. She was a complete failure as an adult, as evidenced by her unsuccessful attempt at conversation earlier. Fenris must think her a complete moron and immensely boring.  _Do you prefer tea or coffee?_  WHY DID SHE ASK THAT?

"Anyone heard that they're gonna show the original Star Wars trilogy at the Hightown Cinema later this month?"

Fenris' luscious timbre interrupted Patsy’s spiral of despair.  Her head whipped around and she could feel a pathetic grin form on her face. He was talking about Star Wars again and it made her feel all... tingly in her heart. And other places, maybe, but that could also be the alcohol.

"Oh, yeah! Bobby and I already have our tickets reserved but you should totally come, too!"

She was so proud of herself for actually taking this opportunity to invite him, she almost patted her own shoulder.  She was also fairly certain it was taking all that Bobby had not to give her another huge obvious wink and double-thumbs up, but apparently her sister wasn't drunk enough to slip into 'Embarrass the Paste' mode and for that she thanked the Maker.

Before Fenris could respond to her invitation - please, please, please Maker, let him say yes, she could dig out her Hanna Solo costume that Bobby had helped her make, and she was sure that blaster pistol replica still worked, and - ANYWAY AHEM YES, before Fenris could respond to her, a tiny woman shaped ball of energy bounced across the room and collided with his side, arms flung around his torso.

"Fenrisss there you are! How'sss it going?!" Unlike Bobby, Merrill didn't need to wink, her entire manner of speaking was basically one long awkward reference. Taken aback, Fenris gaped at her, which did absolutely nothing to dampen her apparently very excellent spirits, reaching out to grab a hold of Patsy with one arm and Fenris with the other, hauling them suddenly and dangerously (for their drinks, anyway) close to one another, nearly knocking their heads together in her enthusiasm. "You guysss are ssso cuu-uu-ute!"

His change of topic had worked  _wonders_  and Fenris hid a smug grin behind his drink. He was about to reply that yes, he'd absolutely join them for the movie when his smugness was knocked right out of him as Merrill decided to crash into him with the force of a cannon ball and then continued to step all over the smugness' carcass with her dainty feet and her not-at-all subtle hints towards anything going on between him and Patsy.

Merrill had them both practically in a headlock, and he exchanged an exasperated look with Patsy. Well, he should try to see the positive in this and file this under "bonding experience". Drinking more Rum 'n a bit of Coke would probably help with that attitude.

Aveline's partner seemed to sense their distress and brought the conversation back to Star Wars, for which he was very, very grateful and the next time... Dennis? found himself in the Brewmother he would get a free Jelly Donut.

"The Empire Strikes Back has got to be  _the_  greatest movie," Den- no,  _Donnic_  cut in, loudly enough that Aveline turned to look at him in surprise.

"No way," she insisted, gesturing with her bottle of beer, which at this point had to have been more empty than full. "Return of the Jedi, hands down."

That launched a sporadic and somewhat disjointed debate over which of the original trilogy had been the best film and on what merits, everyone talking over each other all at once when, like a merciful hand from the heavens (that may or may not be still planning on smiting him), Patsy's sister leaned over so far she almost tipped over, arms outstretched towards Merrill. "Hi! We haven't met yet, I'm Bobby and I love your dress!"

She'd found Merrill's secret kryptonite - exclamation points, huge enthusiastic smiles, and someone who looked like they wanted to hug her. Immediately the tiny brunette let he and Patsy go like they were last year's toys at Wintersend, practically skipping into Bobby's arms and nearly pulling her off of the counter. Fenris caught the sudden movement of the blond next to her, hand reaching out to steady her before the gesture was quickly aborted, the man smoothing a hand through his hair as though trying to cover for himself. It wasn't working, but then no one else seemed to notice.

Interesting, but then again not really his problem. His entire goal - indeed, his entire purpose for sacrificing an evening of reading and the History Channel for this... party... thing - was trying to rectify wherever he'd gone wrong with Patsy, and now that Merrill was sufficiently distracted he was free to return to gloating and sunning himself in the glow of his success, having managed to wrangle both a topic change and a movie invite in one fell swoop.

Now that he was CLEARLY in control of the conversation once more, he could finally slip off to the restroom without worrying that the dating apocalypse would begin and catch him with his pants down, which he had been putting off basically since he had accompanied Patsy back to the kitchen. It had definitely lent a particular kind of urgency to the situation, but if he was going to enjoy this rum and coke at all, he had best make his excuses.

Fenris returned, head high and shoulders pushed back, having had time to think on the loo about how he would advance things with Patsy. Step 1: Accept the invitation. Step 2: Exchange phone numbers. Step 3: ... well. He'd think of something.

In the kitchen, Bobby was chatting intently with Merrill, probably talking about how to best fuse their bodies so they could become one giant ball of cute dresses and bringer of awkwardness to him, only him. But if they were distracted like that it would give him the prime opportunity to chat with...  _What the fuck?_

Somehow, the blonde guy who'd been standing next to Bobby not saying anything, had managed to capture Patsy's attention and engross her in a passionate discussion. Fenris narrowed his eyes and sized up his opponent. The guy was wearing an expensive looking grey dress shirt (but with a stain on it - ha!) and grey trousers, which only undermined Fenris first impression of "stuffy and quiet". But he begrudgingly had to admit that Stain Guy was probably conventionally attractive and he seemed quite buff under his shirt and he was tall. Whereas Fenris was an inch taller than Patsy, at best, Stain Guy practically towered over her while he enthusiastically talked about...something something Dog Skywalker. Ha, Nerd Boy's days were numbered! He took his place next to Patsy so that their shoulders were touching and looked up to the other with a defiant expression.

"I don't think we've been introduced yet. I'm Fenris."

"Uhm... C-Cullen. I work at the First Bank of Kirkwall."

Cullen seemed nervous. Good. Also, what kind of name was Cullen? And naturally he was a banker,  _ugh_. Fenris should make sure that Cullen knew that he was not IN THE LEAST bothered by his existence.

"So, Colin, what were you guys talking about?"

"Actually, it's Cu...", but before Cullen could correct him, he turned to Patsy.

"I thought I heard the name Dog Skywalker! So, still talking about Star Wars?"

"Cullen is a huge Star Wars fan as well and he's also read the EU, isn't that awesome? We were just discussing the Academy on Yavin-4 and how Dog revolutionized the Jedi Code!"

EU? Academy? What was happening? What were they talking about? He just nodded at Patsy with a tense smile and desperately went through all six movies in his head, sadly not coming up with anything he could contribute to the conversation.  _Cullen_  could though and Fenris balled his hands into fists while trying to get Cullen to spill his drink with his mind.

"You didn't read the one where Dog meets these Killik bug people? It's not my favourite but it's not that bad! I can totally lend it to you, just give me your number!"

Fenris had to watch Patsy put Cullen's number into her phone and then call him on his (he still had the standard ringtone, because of course he did) so he had hers, too. Fenris had officially been overrun by a stammering giant. This could not stand.

He moved so he stood between them, his back to Cullen and looked intently into Patsy's eyes which were widened in surprise.

"We have to talk."

She just nodded and he took her hand and dragged her along, away from the kitchen and away from Mister Oh-I-read-Star-Wars-Novels-Or-Whatever-While-I-Iron-My-Trousers-And-Don't-Notice-When-I'm-Not-Welcome.

Fenris lead them away from the party area, down a hallway and then opened a door that he knew did _not_ lead to the bathroom and closed it behind them.

"Listen, Patsy. I wanted to talk to you..."

However, something else had caught Patsy's attention, namely the huge bed occupying the room. He felt heat rushing to his head and his palms began to sweat. He certainly did not want her to think that he brought her here to… well, not like he  _wouldn't_  or had never thought about it, but... Fenris cleared his throat which made Patsy flinch and look back at him with blushing cheeks. Looking for a way to dissolve the situation, he spotted another door at the back of the room and went to inquire. Patsy followed him as he was still holding her hand.

The "next room" turned out to be an empty walk-in closet, only a few towels and bed spreads stored on the shelves. Well, it would have to do.

There they stood facing each other, almost chest to chest as the closet was not that wide and Fenris suddenly could think of nothing but how much he wanted to kiss her. Which he'd already thought about -a lot- during the days following their stormy encounter. It's not like he'd imagined walking over to L3V3L UP with a cup of coffee and a cookie and her being in the store on her own and he'd say something witty and not at all boring and she'd laugh and he'd give her the coffee and the cookie and she'd smile and then he'd brush a strand of hair from her face and then he'd pull her close and kiss her,  _thoroughly_... no, that had certainly never happened.

Patsy looked at him expectantly and yes, he should probably say something now that he'd brought her all the way into this closet. Her hand was still in his and he lifted it and studied it, instead of looking her in the eyes. Not creepy or weird at all, Fenris. Good job.

"I've been considering things, since our last meeting..."

Wonderful, he sounded like they'd had a business meeting and now he was going to explain how he needed to increase the budget they'd agreed upon. He closed his eyes for a second and tightened his hold on her hand, as if that would distract her from the awkward mess he was being.

"I have been thinking about us. About you. A lot, actually."

Finally, he dared to meet her eyes again, which were shining brightly even in the dim light of the closet. She'd leaned in closer to him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her lips slightly parted. Fenris moved his free hand to cradle her face and let his thumb gingerly follow along the line of her lower lip.

He didn't quite know what happened next, if she moved first or if he did, but suddenly, his mouth was where his thumb had been and his lips were sliding against hers. He felt Patsy let out a long breath, the air tickling his skin and her body melted against his. He released her hand to put his hand on her hip and pull her even closer. Fenris could feel her responding to his touch - her lips eagerly searching his whenever he pulled back for air, her fingers running through his hair, almost pulling even and he completely surrendered into the kiss until there was only Patsy filling his senses.

As they both tried to get closer, eager to feel as much of the other as possible, Patsy stepped on his foot and swayed in his arms. Fenris tightened his grip on her and pressed his body against hers, pushing her slowly backwards until her back hit the wall. Patsy let out a breathless laugh and grabbed his collar with one hand to pull him back into a kiss. Fenris caged her head between his arms, pinning her hips with his and moved one leg between hers. She made a soft moaning sound that had him shiver all over and he ground against her as she put one leg around his waist, not even trying to hide how his cock had started to grow hard. Her fingers trailed down his torso until they reached the bottom of his shirt, then slipped underneath and slowly made their way back up again and Fenris' muscles flexed at the contact. He grazed her lips with his teeth, gently pulled her lower lip between them and then kissed her again vigorously, his tongue sliding against hers.

Maybe there actually were things they should talk about, and there were quite possibly smarter things than making out in a closet at Zevran's party and this kiss had already left "tame" behind a long time ago. But he'd imagined this for days, weeks,  _months_  and if she didn't want to stop then he wouldn't either.


	9. Blobby & Pastey vs. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where they play a really good computer game and SHUT UP STEVE.

“Brute coming up the left hand side.”  Crap, her Striker was running low on ammo, she was going to have to-  “Oh shit P, there’s a banshee too.  I’m gonna double back and-”

“Hmm?”

“Patsy!”  Bobby huffed at her screen, sending a burst of annoyed air into her mic and through the line.  “You wanna help me out here, or are you just going to rocket-boot away from your problems?”

“Sorryyyy, let me just-”

“Oh n- OH SHIT, he’s got-”

“I’m a sniper, just give me a second!  This requires precision!”

“Does my death require precision?!”

“Apparently!”

24Sleven sighed over the open channel.  “If you’re going to play gold matches, you probably should actually-”

“Shut up and rez me, Steve.”

Bobby could practically hear the chagrin over the line.  “It’s Sleven.  Not Steven.  Sleven.  Every time with you guys.”

“Shut up and rez her, Steve.”

“FINE, Maker…”

Her tiny broken volus body was again alive and sparkling, snatched back from the brink of death.  She promptly charged the nearest Cannibal and keeled over dead, rolling sadly down the ramp toward the bottom of the reactor facility.  “Shit.”

“OH my god, what are you even-”

“Don’t judge me, you sad turian bastard! Get down here and kill more than two things, you’re bottom ranked.”

“Well you’re dead.”

“Well rez me then!  And anyway, what were you saying?”

There was a long silence over the line, interrupted only by the sounds of her own finger hammering away on the space bar to try and keep permadeath at bay, and the familiar rat-tat-tat of TheWarden’s Harrier, mowing down rank after rank of Reaper unit with cool and professional precision.

“Patsy!”

“WHAT!  Oh.  You know.  I was just saying that it went.  You know.  Really well.  And stuff.”

Bobby narrowed her eyes at her screen.  Patsy and Fenris had disappeared for over an hour at Zevran’s party the night before, and there was basically no way in hell her twin didn’t have something to say about it.  Honestly, she’d been expecting a ‘help I’ve locked myself in the bathroom and I can’t figure out how to get out of Zevran’s fancy shower’ text, or a voicemail comprised of nothing but desolate wookie noises, but so far she’d received nothing but silence.

Only come to think of it, it was sort of _smug_ silence, wasn’t it?

Bobby grinned.  “Did you guys do it?”

The floodgates yawned open like a portal to hell.  “Oh my GOD sis it was so great - and no we didn’t ‘do it’ you pervert, but we made out like _super_ hard, and I don’t even really know how it happened, I mean one minute we were out in the party and the next minute we’re in this closet-”

“What the- in a _closet_?”

“I mean, it was a really big closet, I don’t know, that’s not important.  What’s important is that it was so fucking hot, I mean just like melt - my face - off - so - fucking - hot -”

“Wait, I mean, are we talking ‘forges of Erebor’ hot, or ‘fires of Mount Doom’ hot?”

“Like fucking ‘turn the Death Star into a supernova’ hot!”

“That’s not technically-”

“Shut up Steve.”

“But-”

“Did I ask you Steve?!”

“Okay but did you do it?!”  Shit, banshee.  Bobby filled it full of detachable heat sinks and then charged away, leaving Steve and TheWarden to finish it off.

“Where are you even-”

 “Please tell me you did not fuck Hot Coffee Guy in Zevran’s closet.  Think of his suits.”

“God Blobby, _of course_ we didn’t do it.”  There was a telling pause, followed by the smuggest most obnoxious voice she ever heard, like a smirk and an ‘I Told You So’ dance had shacked up in Vegas and had annoying smug asshole babies.  “Got pretty close though.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.  “How close, Pastey.”

“Well I totes felt his dick on my leg.”

“WHOA WHOA WHOA.”

“SHUT UP STEVE!”  They both yelled, and then Bobby ran herself into the reactor core and watched her volus burn to death in the cleansing fires of irradiated glory.

Dead for the rest of the round anyway, Bobby put her face in her hands and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes.  “Patsy you can’t just- _why would you say that?!_  I don’t need to know about his- his-”  Oh forget it, there was no way she was ever going to be able to look at Fenris the same after this anyway.  “So I guess it was good?”

“It was.  The best.   _The_ best.  He’s just so _strong_ and _passionate_ and he has really hot abs.”

“You felt his abs?”

“I felt his dick, of course I felt his abs.”

The desk was a warm and safe place for her to lay her head, which she did several times, at medium velocity.  She couldn’t tell if she was laughing so hard she was almost in tears, or crying so hard it now resembled hysterical laughter, but her shoulders were shaking either way.  “You precious piece of paste.  Thank the Maker, finally, a _real_ boy!”

“A real _big_ boy, if ya know what I mean - eyyo!”

“Giggity.”

“Oh my god.”

“That isn’t even what I meant Steve!”  Bobby protested.

Patsy snickered.  “It’s totally what I-”

“OKAY that’s enough from you, go back to double-guns-ing yourself in the mirror you smug lame-o.”

“How did you- I’m not- I would never- That’s rude, Blobby.”

“Ugh,” she said, going for infinite patience and ending up with a disgusted noise instead.  “All I was trying to say, thank you very much, that I’m glad it’s an actual person you met in person and not one of those weird online guys you usually go for.  When are you seeing each other again?”

There was sudden awkward silence.  “Well…”

Oh god.  “You… you got his number this time.  Right?”

“Well…”

“Patsy Elizabeth Cleopatra, what the shit?! You were checking out this dude’s package like a book from the library, and you didn’t bother to get his number?!”

“Um not everyone online is weird you know.  I mean, you’re online.”

Steve had a point.  Or wait - did he?  Patsy _apparently_ was pretty fucking weird.  “Here I was, ready to write the epic tale of your love, and you didn’t even get this dude’s number. Now I guess I have to settle for awkward smutty friend-fiction.”

“Like you weren’t planning on that already!” Patsy protested, sounding muffled.  Probably already drowning her sorrows in a 2 liter of tears and a fifth of gin.  Oh, nope - that was just the sound of garbled wookie noises building up in her throat in preparation of being unleashed on all of their eardrums.  “Augh, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do maybe he doesn’t like me maybe I’m a bad kisser you would think if he liked me he would ask for my number that’s what boys do right they get your number WHAT IF HE DOESN’T LIKE ME?!”

In the blink of an eye, Pastey the Turian flashed across her screen and rocket-booted straight into the loving arms of a banshee, where he was eaten.

“I’ll have to quit my job.  I can never show my face again.”

“Well mom would be thrilled,” Bobby said blandly, taking her time about rezzing her sister as the hiss-boom of TheWarden’s missile launcher took care of the banshee.

“Don’t start with mom, I can’t.  I’m in a fragile state.  Why are you so cruel.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who was all ‘ _oh, totes felt his dick on my leg_ ’ or whatever a second ago.”

“She has a point.”

“Thank you Steve.”

“OKAY!  Well that’s enough about me,” Patsy said with false brightness, once again rocket-booting across her screen.  “What about you and that Cullen guy, amirite?”

“What?”  Bobby blinked. “Who?”

Patsy sighed exaggeratedly through the mic. “ _Cullen_.  The blond guy.  From the bank?  Tall?  Works with Zev?”

“Well I mean, yeah, but- what?”  Her eyes narrowed at the screen.  “Are you still drunk?”

“I wasn’t even drunk last night, what are you saying.  And that guy was totally fawning all over you all night.  Maker, where were you?”

Not at the same party apparently, though Patsy’s _attempting to distract with over-exaggeration_ _voice_ was not so difficult to recognize, she’d been using the same one since they were five years old.  “I was just helping him out with his shirt.  You know, since you spit purple cupcake all over it when Fenris came in.”

“No I didn’t.  Shit, I did.  I did do that didn’t I.  Oh my god.”

“If I wanted to make out with someone I wouldn't care if they'd had a cupcake malfunction.”

“Don’t encourage her, Steve,” she admonished, but it was too late.  Patsy latched on to the beacon of hope like a face-hugging alien on a space marine.

“That’s true! Plus, maybe he didn’t see!”

“Maybe he’s into that.”

“Shut up Blobby.  I mean, he made out with me, didn’t he?!  That has to be a good sign!”

And if it wasn’t, well - a) that was confusing as all get out, and b) there was really no stopping her sister now.

“You got this sis, go get ‘em.”

Pastey the Turian rocket-booted off the edge of the map in joy.


	10. Patsy and Fenris vs. The Dangers of Being Cocky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences, especially when you tell your friends about making-out in a closet.

“Bobby! What a lovely surprise! Your sister not coming in today?”

Patsy fixated Isabela with her most withering stare, the stare that had already killed the countless of plants that’d ever dared to cross her doorstep. Well, it was probably her stare and not her apathy when it came to things like “watering plants” and “not putting them directly over the heater, Patricia, please stop and think for one second, if you can’t even take care of plants how will you ever take care of your own household?”. The stare never worked on her mother though (“Stop frowning, dear, it’s very unbecoming.”), and Isabela just hand waved it, but sometimes it was the only way to express herself.

Patsy looked down at her clothes and plucked at her shirt. Well, maybe her outfit was a bit more “pastel” and less “black skinny jeans and nerdy t-shirt” than usual but no need to make such a hoopla about it. And yes, maybe she only owned the shirt because Bobby had accidentally bought it twice, thinking it different shades of apricot. Isabela didn’t need to know that though.

“Don’t give me that stare, sweetie and let me admire your legs -  hardly ever get to see them.”

Isabela got up from the bean bag chair where she’d been sipping her iced coffee, somehow managing to look as though she was here on a vacation and not to... you know, _work_. She started circling around Patsy, humming her approval and then patting her on the butt, when she was done with her assessment. The butt that Patsy had squeezed into shorts for the first time in forever this morning - which she’d regretted as soon as she’d stepped out her door but she’d already been late and really had no time to change her outfit again. For the fifth time.

“You’re wearing flip flops! With little flowers! And the lipstick I picked out for you!”

Isabela wiped away an imaginary tear and then scooped Patsy back over to the bean bag chairs so they could sit down facing each other.

“Tell me every little, sordid detail about the party, stat.”

_Fenris’ mouth was hot against her neck, teasing little bites down to her collarbone, one hand in a tight grip around her waist, the other holding up her leg. Patsy’s mind was an explosion of “WHAT’S HAPPENING” and “I TOUCHED HIS ABS” and “HE’S GOT A BONER” and so it was a good thing she was not capable of actual speech anymore; all that left her mouth were things she’d describe as ‘sex noises’ if she’d hear someone else make them. It was a good thing they were hidden away in a closet, so nobody could hear her as a particularly loud moan escaped her when Fenris’ bites grew a bit stronger in intensity - probably encouraged by her obscene sounds. Then he soothed over her skin with his tongue and Patsy could do nothing but put her hands on his arse and well, maybe she also took his earlobe between his teeth and ground her hips a little but who could really blame her..._

“Oh my, Patsylicious, what _did_ you do at the party? Or rather, _who_ did you do? You’re practically drooling!”

Patsy was ripped out of her delicious flashback, cheeks burning and there probably actually was drool somewhere. Isabela looked at her like a smug cat, leaning in closer and eyes glinting with the excitement of someone who’s about to hear all about how her friend finally made out with this hot guy in a closet. No point denying anything, Isabela could sense dirty thoughts from a mile away. And one look at Patsy’s face probably already told her enough to give material for not one but two of Bobby’s smutty fanfictions.

“Okay, so you know Fenris. Hot Coffee Guy.”

“The guy you’ve been mooning over for months? Yes, I believe I do.”

Patsy cleared her throat and tried to gather her thoughts away from how Fenris’ hand slip up her leg, under her shirt and ever higher, _really close_ to her bra and why had she not been wearing the one cute bra she owned but one that was more of a sports bra and...

“Patricia Hawke, please concentrate!”

Isabela was snapping her fingers in front of her face, trying to hide her bemused smile under a stern frown.

“Well, Fenris was at the party, too. And. You know…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence because her mouth spread into a huge grin and she had to try really hard not to _giggle_ like a smitten teenager. Isabela’s eyes grew wide and she took Patsy’s hands in hers.

“Oh, so there was _contact_! I know there was a couple making out in a closet, where did you end up?”

Patsy’s grin grew even wider, if possible and her cheeks felt so hot, you could probably bake snickerdoodles on there.

“No! The closet! I’m so proud! Without my help! Come on, come on, tell Auntie Bela everything. So, you established mouth-to-mouth contact. Tongue?”

Patsy could finally not hold back any longer and just burst out: ”I felt his boner against my hip!”

Unlike her stupid sister, who had been acting rather prim for someone who wrote about hot space marines getting it on everywhere in the galaxy in her spare time, Isabela threw her head back and started laughing, pulling at Patsy’s arms so she was forced to get up and sit down again on Isabela’s bean sack.  Then she was hauled into a big hug, so tight that Patsy had trouble getting her head into a position where she would not ruin her makeup.

“Oooh, your first closet-boner! Honey, I’m so happy for you!”

Yes, this is how it should be. Joy that Patsy got to feel up and be felt up in a closet and not weird questions about “uuh when are you gonna see him again, oh Paste, what is your life”. She congratulated her mind for this beautiful imitation of her twin when Isabela grabbed her shoulders and moved her so she could look into her face.

“So, what now? You didn’t come in with coffee. Are you gonna go over and get some? Are you gonna go over and _get some_? Is he taking you out later? Already exchanged some dirty text messages?”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuh…”

“I see. Alright, don’t worry. Your Love Instructor is here and will tell you what to do. Since you went to all the trouble to put on the one pastel item of clothing in your closet, I think you should go and show it to him so he’ll know what he can never have again. Meaning you in these clothes. He can probably have you out of them, I’m guessing!”

Patsy made a face that said “You’re not wrong but I’ll pretend that you are” and Isabela cackled happily, obviously enjoying herself immensely.

“So, you’ll go over there when there’s no other customers and say hi and then you’ll give him a piece of paper with your number and if you can’t say anything, it won’t matter, because he’ll have your number.”

“What… what if he doesn’t want to have my number?”

It was something that had been nagging at her since she’d told Bobby. They _did_ have that moment during the storm and she was guessing Fenris did not just go around snogging random people in closets… but maybe he was? With that voice and that face and his mouth, oh…

_Fenris lips quirked into a smirk as he pinned her arms above her head, both breathing heavily. He kept a hold on her hands with one of his and with the other he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. At that he laughed, a private joke she didn’t understand and then pressed his forehead against hers._

Patsy shook her head, chasing away the doubts and storing the memories to re-live them when she was alone and undisturbed.

“Anyway, where were you? I didn’t think you’d miss such a prime opportunity for watching other people hook up until you pick the best option for yourself?”

Isabela winked at her and adjusted her cleavage.

“I never made it further than the lobby. Cute door guy, you know how it is. _Really_ good with his hands.”  
  


* * *

 

Just like the Teyrn of Gwaren had once successfully defended his castle against an oncoming horde of ransacking barbarians, Fenris had taken a look at the awkwardness between him and Patsy, repelled it, chased it and then gloriously defeated it in the closet. In fact, one could probably consider this one of the most remarkable victories in all of Thedas’ history. As far as making-out-in-closets went, anyway.

However, just like in every battle, there was bit of chaos during the aftermath. Understandable, considering that his brain probably lacked air and blood after all the snogging. So he had forgotten to ask for her phone number and also just let her leave the closet when she’d realised that it was probably time to resurface and leave before people started looking for them. That could happen to _anyone_. Especially anyone trying to catch their breath and also dealing with a painful erection in their pants.

“Had a good time with your lady friend at the party?”

Merrill had snuck up next to him, apparently ready to interrogate him now that the morning rush of customers had abated. Her use of the word “lady friend” earned her an eyeroll.

“It was an enjoyable evening.”

Merrill’s phone dinged and she put up her hand while she read her new text message. Then she looked at him like the dragon that swallowed the adventuring party. _Oh no_.

“You made out in a closet?”

Fenris almost dropped one of the caramel shortcakes he was restocking and froze on the spot.

“ _How do you even…?_ I mean-”, he cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure. Where was Merrill getting this information from? Did someone see them? “No comment.”

 _Ding_. Merrill looked at her phone and started laughing, while Fenris ground his teeth and braced for more embarrassment.

“ _Interesting_ , I hear there was - and I quote - ‘dick on leg’ involved. I don’t know that expression, what does it mean?”

 “That’s not… it’s…” He sighed in defeat, clearly Merrill’s intel came from a very reliable source and denying anything would just make him look like a fool. “It’s not an expression…” Merrill’s eyes were wide and full of innocence but her twitching lips told him that she knew exactly what she was doing. “Who is texting you all this anyway?”

“Oh, Isabela is live-texting me every little detail Patsy is telling her about the party.”

Fenris groaned, because that was expected of him, but he was a little worried now. Telling your friend that you made out with someone at a party, he supposed that was what people did. Was it a good thing though? Maybe she was complaining? Was she horrified by his hard-on?

“So, uhm…” How to be subtle about this. “Did, uh,... Patsy told Isabela about…” He motioned at his general crotch-area. Merrill looped her arm through his and grinned up at him.

“Why, are you worried she didn’t like it? Have no fear, my grumpy friend, according to Bela L3v3l Up is in danger of flooding because Patsy keeps drooling so much, thinking about locking lips with you. It’s a - let me quote again - ‘tidal wave of saliva’ over there.”

While that did give him some curious mental images, it sounded as though Patsy enjoyed their time in the closet as well, ‘dick on leg’ and all. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the fact that apparently the entirety of the Kirkmall would know about this now that Isabela was privy to such gossip. Maybe someone would tell Cullen… Fenris made a satisfied snort, which earned him an elbow in the side.

“You have no reason to look so smug, I also heard that you neither exchanged numbers nor asked her out on a date or _anything_. Fenris, how could you be so thoughtless! Poor Patsy probably felt horrible all of yesterday.”

Merrill’s words echoed in his mind while he stared at the shortbread he’d arranged in a pile that didn’t look particularly enticing, but then it was shortbread, either you liked it or not. He shoved one piece in his mouth and started chewing on it absentmindedly while contemplating how to proceed further.

“Uh, we’re supposed to _sell_ those, not _eat_ them, remember?”

Fenris just shrugged and took another piece, Merrill sounded more amused than concerned about store policies anyway.

“Incoming hottie, better stop stuffing your face!”

Indeed, Patsy had just entered the Brewmother. Fenris straightened up and tried to welcome her with his best smile. He could do this.  


* * *

 

 **Merrill:** Oh no

 **Isabela:** what are they doing

 **Merrill:** staring at each other

 **Merrill:** she handed him a piece of paper

 **Isabela:** Good that's her phone number

 **Merrill:** he gave her caramel shortbread

 **Isabela:** pls tell me that's sth dirty

 **Merrill:** sorry  >_<

 **Merrill:** OH he asked her out

 **Isabela:** !!!!!!!! THANK THE FUCKING MAKER

 **Merrill:** or not? "are you having lunch today" is what he said

 **Merrill:** she said yes, very confused, poor girl and he just nodded

 **Isabela:** he had his cock rubbing all over her and still can't ask her out???

 **Merrill:** I just want to help them, they're so sad

 **Merrill:** more staring, maybe that's a form of sex to them?

 **Isabela:** it probably is, I bet Pat will come back all turned on and confused, FENRIS GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER

 **Merrill:** well, she's coming back, have fun with that

 **Merrill:** Fenris just looked at me, shook his head and went into the storage room

 **Merrill:** I better take care of that, later babe xx

 


	11. Fenris vs. Pigeon Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Patsy have their lunch date

Around lunch-time, Fenris appeared in the doorway of L3V3L UP, leaning against the frame, arms crossed and motioning for her to get up like some kind of apparition straight from the dirty fantasies she’d been entertaining about him ever since… a while. Usually, these Erotic Envisionments started off with Fenris appearing in a doorframe, all sexy and stoic and then he’d slowly walk towards her, his hungry gaze never leaving her. Sometimes, he’d pull her close, whispering with hot breath all the things he would do to her. And then _do_ those things. Other times, there were no words, he’d just rip her clothes off and they’d go at it. In her mind, they’d already fucked all over the Mall.

She was bored at work a lot, okay.

“Are you coming?”

Yes, yes, if she kept this up, soon she’d be… _Patsy, what the fuck are you doing?_ Fenris was actually _here_ , waiting for _her._ Apparently, he _did_ ask her out earlier, she wasn’t quite sure. Patsy straightened her blouse, took her wallet and put it back down when Fenris stared at it and shook his head, holding up a bag from The Brewmother. They left the store, without any cheering or lewd comments from Isabela, miraculously, only a wink and “have fun”. Almost unsettling.

Once they’d left the store, Fenris smirked… no, he actually _smiled_ at her, warm and… just the way he’d smiled at her in the closet, right before he’d leaned in for another scorching kiss. Patsy smiled back in a way that she hoped didn’t scream “I think about you a lot when I’m in the shower.”  And then - in a move that could only be undertaken by someone who wore black jeans and black t-shirts while it was ridiculously hot outside without breaking a sweat - Fenris took her hand in his. It must still be clammy from all the fretting and day-dreaming she’d done today but he didn’t seem to mind. Or was just too polite to let go immediately, while he regretted all the life choices that led up to this sweat-drenched moment.

He led her out of the Mall towards the little park area right next to the building. Everyone had started calling it the “Pigeon Park” a few months ago, she’d never quite understood why, but then also never bothered to inquire further. Probably just a lot of pigeons around.

They sat down on a bench and Fenris handed her an iced coffee and a sandwich he’d brought from The Brewmother. Buying things there every day certainly meant that he intimately knew her tastes - at least when it came to things you could buy in a coffee shop.

“Thanks for the food!”

“No problem. Enjoy your meal.”

This time he was definitely smirking and Patsy could feel heat rising up in her cheeks. Well, the sun was shining and was probably the actual reason she was warming up. Probably. Before she turned into a lobster face, she focused on her sandwich and bit into it with vigor. Oh no, there was avocado on it! She knew for a fact that it was an extra ingredient, and he’d have to have made the sandwich especially for her… That shouldn’t have her heart racing so much, but people always said it was the little things, didn’t they?

“So, uhm, did you get home safe after the party?”

The party. Why would he bring that up. _Don’t get anymore hot flashbacks, Patsy, control your libido!_

“Yeah, I took the night bus with Bobby, we live close to each other. And you?”

“Oh, mhm, yeah.”

It seemed like there was something else he wanted to say and Patsy kept sipping on her iced coffee, the plastic cup seemingly sweating as much as she did and irregularly dripping on her leg.

“Did you tell your sister much about… us?”

Time stopped for a second while the moment of Fenris saying “us” replayed in her mind over and over, before Patsy remembered that he had asked her a question.

“Bobby? Uuuuh… I don’t think, mhm… noooo… why?“

Devastatingly convincing. Fenris would never suspect her of lying. _Never._

“It’s just that she keeps staring at me like I burned all of her cookies. Does she not like me?”

Was he actually _worried?_ Patsy almost started snogging him right then and there but instead opted for brightly smiling at him.

“Not at all! She’s totally on board with us making out!”

Patsy bit her lip as soon as that sentence left her mouth and Fenris quirked his eyebrow at her.

“Well, that’s a good thing, I suppose.”

They gazed at each other for a long time, long enough that those frantic, delicious, _passionate_ moments in the closet all returned to the forefront of her mind. _Oh Maker, I’m also in favour of us making out._

Apparently, she’d said that out loud, because Fenris slightly choked on his coffee (regular, _hot_ coffee, because his own hotness probably made him impervious to things like ‘sun’ and ‘heat’), but tried to turn the choking into an amused chuckle. Pretty good, much better than her own lousy attempts at trying to downplay her awkwardness! For example, right now she was shoving the rest of the sandwich into her mouth, desperately hoping that The Cupcake Incident wouldn’t repeat itself.

Once they’d both finished off their lunch in not- _that_ -awkward silence, Patsy put up her feet and sat cross-legged on the bench, so she was facing Fenris. Following her example, Fenris moved so that the bench was between his legs and he was also looking at her. Great, good position to… talk. About…

“Accident?”

Fenris reached out with one hand and tenderly tapped a fingertip against the band-aid crowning her knee. Oh, yes, it had been an _awful_ accident. Provoked by Patsy’s negligence while handling her razor. Rather than opening that particular can of worms, she just grinned and shrugged.

“Let’s hope Spongebert will take good care of you then.”

Patsy couldn’t quite stop the snort-laugh from escaping at his butchering of the character’s name but her laughter turned into a warm smile as she saw Fenris’ confused face. She took his hand that still lingered on her leg and tugged him closer until she could press a soft kiss to his lips. He seemed a bit startled at first, frozen in place, but as she tried to pull away, his hand cradled her neck and kept her close, his lips moving against hers. _How is his hand not sweaty?_ Her own hands moved to his shoulders, stroking upwards over the strong muscles, over his neck and then tangled in his hair.

Their kiss was tame in comparison to their closet action, but her heart was beating just as fast and her knees were just as weak. This time, there was no hurry - it was a slow kiss, savouring every brush of their lips, every touch of hands against skin. Warmth spread from her toes to the top of her head, this time entirely unrelated to the heat of the sun or any sort of embarrassment. They sat like that for a while, ‘having a bit of a snog’ as one might call it until they remembered that they were in a public place this time and not hidden away in a closet.

“Mhm, yes, definitely in favour of _this_.”

Fenris huffed in amusement and rested his hands on her legs, fingers curled around her calves.

“Glad you enjoyed this, even without my… what was the phrase… _dick on your leg_.”

So this is what a heart-attack felt like. _Isabela, I’ll kill you._

“I’ll kill Isabela.”

Fenris started laughing, a deep, very, _very_ sexy laugh and Patsy couldn’t help but join in. She’d still kill Isabela, but maybe after they continued snogging for a little longer.


	12. Bobby & Cullen vs. The Cookiemergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobby burns some cookies and Cullen is an awkward dork

Maker, Andraste, Holy Saint Dog, she did not want to be dealing with this again.

Bobby sandwiched the phone between her shoulder and her ear, rummaging around in the ‘dirty but still wearable’ pile of her clothes for a suitable pair of jeans.  “Mum, I thought we agreed-”

“No darling, _you_ agreed, which is frankly not at all an agreement.”  Leandra sounded tinny and patronizing through the earpiece, annoyed as usual at her eldest.  “Why you girls are so resistant to the idea of dating nice young men I will never understand, the least you could do is _meet_ them-”

She could feel her eyes rolling toward the back of her skull, hopping in place to get her pants up over her hips and kicking one leg to dislodge the sock that had apparently been balled up somewhere around one knee.  “Muuum…” Great, now she was starting to whine.  Very good, very mature.  She found her hat, grabbed her keys and headed for the door, jogging down all three flights of steps with the phone still pressed to her ear.  “I’m late for work.”

“Well that’s hardly my fault Roberta, you need to learn how to manage your time.”

 _To be more successful at this job that you hate?_  She didn’t say it, but the hypocrisy was galling as always.  At least she made the bus - and at least her farecard actually had money on it today - picking her way through the mess of knees in the aisle to sink down in an empty spot, slouching against the window.  “Mum, I really don’t think Patsy-”

Leandra sighed, pointedly silent.  

“I can try?”  It wasn’t like she could just say _oh, sorry mom, Patsy is sort of suction cupped to a boy from the mall via the face, I don’t think she’s going to be interested in meeting cousin Revka’s friend’s business-partner’s brother._ Or whoever the hell it was this time.  Tempting, but really not worth the blown gasket on the other end of the line, and Patsy would absolutely murder her for bringing the down the wrath of Darth Mum.

“For crying out loud Roberta, nice young men don’t grow on trees.”   _What?_  “Whether or not your sister agrees to go, I expect you to be there.”

 _Crap._ “Okay then,” she heard herself say, and punched herself in the thigh hard enough that she made a face and rubbed the spot, earning an odd look from the older gentleman sitting in the seat across the aisle.  “I guess I can-”

“Good, Wednesday at 8 it is.”  Leandra sounded smug.

“Super.”

“And wear something nice, please?  Don’t embarrass the poor man.  I would hate for it to be like the last-”

“Okay Mum my stop is coming up I have to go bye!” Bobby mashed the call hang-up button and quickly powered off her phone, fighting the urge to throw the entire thing out the window.  

Technology was overrated.  Who needed telecommunications anyhow?  It was all probably part of the inclimate zombie apocalypse anyway.

“It’s fine,” she said as soon as she stepped behind the counter, logging herself in on the register.

“Oh honey.”  Jethann, naturally, didn’t believe a word of it.  They’d been friends for ages, he could probably read the transcript of her phone conversation on her forehead.  “Forget about this stupid date, I can totally stay.”

Game to try and make the best of it, Bobby smiled.  “No!  Don’t be silly, it’s totally fine and I’m already here anyway!”

Too many exclamation points and too much false cheer, probably.  Jethann held her by the shoulders and looked at her, waiting for the smile to fade.  When it didn’t he sighed and patted her head.  “Okay cookie, you let me know if you need to talk later.” He stopped and grinned, lips moving into an undiluted devious expression.  “Maybe text first.”

That did make her smile, a real smile this time, and she swatted him with an apron.  “Go get some, you.  Call me after.  Call me during.”

He laughed and waved his fingers at her, sipping on his diet coke and heading toward the parking lot.  Alone with the obnoxiously upbeat music coming from Horns Up, which she usually enjoyed, she slumped against the counter, chin in her hands.  

Midweek closing shifts were so quiet lately; the weather probably had something to do with it.  Soon it would be getting colder and she’d get to pull out all of her fluffy sweaters and adorable scarves, and hats, and boots, that would be cheerful, wouldn’t it?  Definitely better than whatever the end of this summer was turning out to be, something like a long barefoot trek through the purgatory of her mother’s bad blind dates on the way to set-up hell.

Ugh.  All she wanted to do was sleep.  She made a batch of snickerdoodles instead.  They weren’t as popular as Sten’s Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies, but lately they’d been running out.  Probably had something to do with the bank; Cullen came around mostly every day to buy a dozen or so for them to give away.  It seemed to amuse Jethann endlessly; he’d started a tally of how many times Cullen had been the one to make the run down to this end of the mall, probably assuming he’d drawn the short-straw or something.  Zevran came by regularly as well but never bought anything, mostly visiting just to visit and of course to flirt outrageously with both of them.  

Secretly she thought maybe a little something was going on between he and Jethann, but Jeth would neither confirm nor deny and just somehow managed to look crafty and always have a customer.

Damn these people and their successful, mother-free love lives.

Against her better judgement she turned her phone back on and logged into her email to find that her mother had ever so helpfully sent her a link to Prince Perfect Pierre’s bio on his company’s website with a note suggesting that she familiarize herself - and more importantly, a link to his Facebook profile.  She clicked on the first mostly just to see what he looked like, foregoing reading his long list of accomplishments and going straight to his picture.  He was shaking hands with someone who was probably a dignitary of some sort, smiling with all 32 of his perfectly straight white teeth.

His Facebook if anything was worse, just a feed of selfies with artful filters of him doing adventurous and exciting things.  Skydiving and scuba diving and all sorts of other kinds of diving and things that looked frankly exhausting and meant for a person twice as athletic as she could ever be, in addition to the obligatory (and obnoxious) ‘toes in the sand’ picture from wherever he’d gone on his last vacation.  There was no dearth of photos of him with attractive women either, all big boobs, high heels and scanty dresses.

Oh yeah, they were going to get along. Totally.  And this guy and Patsy would just be a disaster starting with too many glasses of wine at dinner and ending probably with an overly loud tell-off in a restaurant they would never be able to go back to.  What her mother was thinking, trying to set _both_ of her daughters up with the same unsuitable man-

Well, her mother’s mind was unfathomable.  She meant well.  Probably.

She also knew how to pull her daughter’s strings.  Bobby got maybe a bit too into this dude’s feed, scrolling past happy birthday messages and awkward bro-jokes from people he probably worked with.  Every one of his friends looked like a frat boy or a supermodel, and she was so engrossed in what apparently was the most exciting life she’d never hope to lead that she didn’t even realize that the lights all around her had blinked out until the register started shrieking.  

Throwing her phone down, she scrambled to log the register off before the 2 minutes of backup battery power went out and they lost all of their transactions for the day (in theory this stupid back-up powerstrip battery thing was supposed to hold enough juice for 30 minutes, but honestly this whole set-up was sort of low budget and the thing hadn’t worked right for ages).

Sort of like everything else in her life.  Ah bitterness, so tasty.

She just sort of stood there in the dark for a moment or two, taking in the disgruntled murmurs from the rest of the food court restaurants who also seemed to have lost power, and was just a little selfishly grateful that she didn’t work at JustICE and didn’t have to deal with vats of melting ice cream.

Aveline rode in to make sure everything was alright, keeping peace - even though there was hardly anyone around anyway - until the maintenance man arrived.  There was no telling what the problem was this time, and anything it could be was entirely beyond her control to fix anyway, so she sat there in the dark on the floor behind the counter and let the battery on her phone run down until the lights blinked back on over head.

It was later than she realized, nearly time to start closing down, and she powered the computer back on and redid the entire opening-of-business sequence basically just to follow it up with their end-of-day routine.  Their computer was older than the scary guy who hung out at The Black Emporium and it took forever, involving a lot of button pushing that some sort of tame trained animal could perform and several processes that ought to just be automated.  Forget talking to Sten about his choice of marketing, Jeth ought to talk to him about how they were still living in an alternate age - one where people were still hitting rocks together to make fire.

Somewhere around writing up the deposit slip for the second register, she realized something in the kitchen was smoking.

Those damn _snickerdoodles_ \- apparently the oven had powered right back up along with everything else, and her ‘bake for 10 minutes’ cookies had probably been going for somewhere closer to an hour.  They were hard as rocks and more than a little black, and as she crouched down in front of the open oven door, frantically waving an oven mitt back and forth to dispel the smoke before it could set off the smoke alarm - wouldn’t _that_ just be her luck - she kind of wanted to cry.

And then it did set off the smoke alarm.  Because why wouldn’t it.  She spent five minutes on a step ladder trying to get the thing turned off while their wood-chipper of a kitchen vent sucked the smoke out of the room at the rate of a canyon eroding.  

That was great.  At this rate the mall bank was going to be closed and she’d have to try and remember the combo to the shitty, ancient safe gathering dust in the back of the shop, and there was a very real possibility that she would miss the last bus not on the delayed night-schedule, and have to wait around for an hour for the next one.  Or just walk home.  In the dark.  Like a sad loser.  Without a jacket.

There was part of her that just wanted to shut everything back up in the oven and leave it for someone else to deal with, and she went so far as to write a 3 post-it long note explaining what had happened and ending with ‘sorry, even my mother knows I’m a fuck-up’ before she just made herself stop and pick up the phone.

* * *

 

Zevran’s party had been a stunning success.  Everyone in the mall had talked about it - was  _still_ talking about it in fact; he’d heard through the apparently very productive gossip-grapevine that there had been three breakups, four hookups, and one near-proposal that night alone.  Personally, Cullen blamed it on the way Zevran’s apartment was built more or less on the premise of inciting dramatic carnal affairs, but it could also have something to do with free-flowing alcohol and the fact that no one had to go into work the next day.

None of this information was found out first hand of course, so he couldn’t vouch for its veracity, but seeing as Zevran seemed to be a solid cornerstone of the mall rumor mill he tended somewhat to assume his source was reliable.  How Zev had managed to become a veritable information broker in this strange microcosm in less than three weeks he would never understand, but the party had been somewhat of a turning point for himself as well.  He wasn’t much use at gatherings that weren’t business related, or so he’d thought, but after Bobby’s sister and the extremely hostile gentleman from the coffee shop took their leave his Antivan friend had saved him from himself, drawing him away and introducing him to a handful of the shop owners who were more than happy to talk about the practical side of their livelihoods, where his knowledge of tax brackets and interest rates was neither out of place nor alarming.

Not that he wouldn’t have been happy to listen to Bobby and Merrill talk about edible flowers and organic ingredients for buttercream icing for hours.  He didn’t bake but it was still interesting, and…

He was being disingenuous.  He wouldn’t have been happy necessarily, standing around silently like an out of place statue holding a beer that had long since gone warm, but he still would have done it if it meant that he might occasionally say something that might be construed as clever and be awarded with one of her bright smiles.  He probably would have been at it all night like some kind of amorous schoolboy half his age if not for Zevran’s intervention, so at least this way he could claim most of his pride was intact.

A shame about the shirt, however.

Not that one gray soldier would be missed in the veritable army of its brethren - he really did have very narrow tastes, didn’t he? - it’s just that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.  Her, really.  Being so close to her, watching her clean food off his shirt (awkward, admittedly), but more so being smiled at, spoken to -

That sounded pathetic, like he was some sort of sad loner starved for the touch of humankind.  He had friends, had a very satisfactory life, it just… well.  It just reminded him that it had been a very long time.  He wasn’t the kind of person who was able to take assignations lightly, was always the winning party in the game of who took things most seriously, and he’d found that it was just easier to focus on work, on family, on his interests, and let his love life take a backseat.

And while that was a completely mature, completely reasonable approach to life, it meant that he was at somewhat of a disadvantage now, a chance encounter blossoming into a bona fide crush almost overnight.

“I would never presume to give you advice,” Zevran said one slow morning over his coffee, the implied _but_ hanging unspoken but obvious in the air.  “Perhaps you should take a walk.  Clear your head.  Perhaps bring back something sweet?”

“But that would mean-”  Zevran stared at him as though willing him with all the power of his mind to take the hint.  Cullen straightened, shutting the register drawer with a snap.  “Right.  Of course.  How silly of me.”

Zevran, at least, was kind enough to say nothing, merely sipping his espresso with both blond eyebrows pointedly raised.

He came back with snickerdoodles every day.  It was, at first, some sort of deer in the headlights choice made out of desperation - they were the cookies he’d purchased the day he met her and therefore fresh in his memory - though there was a part of him that thought the connection perhaps seemed too obvious.

Yes, because subtlety was his problem.  As nice as it was to have an excuse to visit with her every day, even if only for a few minutes, he was nowhere nearer to making his interest known.  He ought to just ask her to dinner.  Was that so hard?

Yes.  Apparently yes it was.

Even if he managed to stumble somehow over the initial hurdle of asking - even if she happened, through some act of god, to say yes - what would he even talk to her about?  Oh, had she read that article about microlending in the latest issue of The Economist?  Had she seen that horrible story on the news?  Maybe he ought to tell her about the exciting time he’d had on his last vacation, where he’d taken a week off to visit with his nieces and do handyman work around his mother’s.

All legitimate topics of course, and things that he did want to talk about with someone, but for a first date it all just seemed so dismal and-

And boring.

Maybe he should just make something up, something about a jungle safari, or a balloon ride up the Amazon.  Alligator wrestling was manly and admirable, wasn’t it?

Maker, that just sounded cruel to the alligator.  

There was little point in trying to concoct some kind of outlandish story anyway, he would never be able to stick to it or keep it straight, having a rather regrettable inability to lie.  All of his talents lie in being steadfast and dependable, and did not usually extend into the realm of inventive theatrics.  This line of thinking was neither helpful nor particularly productive, and he was glad when the phone rang.

“First Bank of Thedas, this is Cullen.”

“Oh, thank the Maker, you’re still there.  Hi Cullen, this is Bobby!”

He almost dropped the phone.  He put down his pen instead and flattened his empty hand against the top of the counter, feeling the need to brace himself.  “Oh- ah- hey!” Oh no.  “I mean, hi.  Bobby.”  He cleared his throat, reaching to dig two fingers into the knot of his tie to loosen it, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t breathe.  “What can I do for you?”

“Um, well…” she laughed over the line, fifty percent awkward and about a thousand percent endearing. “I had a small cookiemergency over here, and I know you’re about to close, but I was wondering - will you still be there in ten minutes?  I just-”

She was still talking and he was already nodding his head yes, realizing a moment late that he actually needed to use his words and express his agreement through the phone.  “No, it’s no problem Bobby, take all the time you need.”

“Oh, thanks so much!  You’re a total sweetheart, I’ll totally make this up to you.”

And that - didn’t send his mind tailspinning in any particular gutter-oriented direction.  No, of course not. It was slightly amusing because it seemed so typical and cliche, but then immediately made him start to feel horrible about himself because he really wasn’t that kind of person.  Shouldn't be, anyway.  It was late and they would probably soon be the only two people in this entire building, and he didn’t have such poor self control that he would even risk her walking through those doors and feeling as though she was being mentally undressed.  That just wasn’t - it wasn’t.

He hadn’t even trusted himself to think too deeply about it after the party, had somehow managed to constrain those little tendrils of fantasy into snippets, brief memories; her hand on his arm, the curve of her lower lip as she smiled, her thumb on the button of his shirt… The last thought was followed closely by the image of fingers on her ankle, skimming up her calf and dragging the diaphanous fabric of her pink skirt with them, completely unbidden and definitely _not_ a memory, and he slammed the drawer he was working in much harder than necessary, hissing out through his teeth.

Not acceptable.  He was hot beneath his jacket, so he took it off, and then immediately put it back on again, taking several deep breaths rather than give in to the urge to pace.  He’d made a mess of his tie so he spend a few moments redoing it, satisfied only when the knot was settled neatly into place at the hollow of his throat, straight and prim and professional.

Because he was a professional.

Oh, Maker.

He intentionally busied himself elsewhere, turning his back to the door so he wouldn’t be tempted to stand there and watch for her.  The shuffling and straightening of paperwork soothed his bureaucratic soul and by the time he heard the chime on the door go off as it opened several minutes later, he was almost back in a rational headspace, made safe by columns and rows of numbers.

“Oh god, Cullen, thank you so much, you have no idea-”  She was already talking as she pushed through the door, and he scarcely heard any of it because warm air blew in with her from the hallway and carried in with it the scent of cookies.  Maker help him.

She slid over her deposit bag and he just stared at her for a moment too long before leaping into action, shaking himself mentally and shrugging his shoulders beneath his stifling jacket. “Sorry, yes.  Let me just-” Stop narrating, Cullen.  For pity’s sake.  “So, cookiemergency you said?”

“Ugh, we lost power for a while and our system is from circa the dawn of time.  Took forever.”  She paused.  “And then I burnt some cookies.”

“No.”

She laughed and ducked her head, seeming actually embarrassed.  It pulled straight on something inside his chest, probably the string attached to whatever part of his heart had been relegated to ‘Huge Crush on Bobby Hawke’.  Pathetic.  

“If the mall ever burns down, it’ll probably because Sten trusts us all to behave like adults and refuses to see the logic in updating our system.”

It didn’t seem nice, but he found himself laughing.  Almost laughing.  Smiling, anyway.  “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“You will if you stick around.  Gets really into Wintersend.  Bought an elf costume and everything.”

Cullen’s eyebrow lifted.  “Your employer dresses up as an elf for Wintersend?”

“No, I do, he bought it for-” Bobby laughed.  “Okay maybe that doesn’t really sound _better_ , so much as _weird_.”

“Not at all,” he said without thinking.  “I like your cookie suit. It’s very…” Why had he said that.  “Effective.”

Fortunately she didn’t seem to notice.  “I’ll have to tell Jethann you think so, he’s always teasing me because I don’t mind wearing it.  What can I say, I just like costumes, you know?”

Well he did now, and had no idea what to do with that information, mind going in several unpermitted directions at once.  “Funalis around here must be exciting.”

“It’s a mess, it’s wonderful.”  They chatted for a while longer as she told him about last year, laughing over something that had transpired thanks to an overzealous shop display and a giant replica of a spider.  By the end of it he sounded less strained, thankfully - at least in that he no  longer felt like he was about to choke, strangled to death by a collusion between his high collar and his awkwardness.

“If you give me a moment to finish up here, I’ll walk out with you,” he said, momentarily brave, and bit the tip of his tongue as she checked the clock on her cell phone.

“Sure, no problem.”

Bobby found a spot on the small couch tucked into the corner of the lobby, idly flipping through a handful of glossy brochures about bank services, each featuring an ethnic and gender-diverse plethora of unrealistically smiling individuals.  He had to exert a considerable bit of willpower to focus on the task at hand, though try as he might he was unable to entirely prevent himself from sneaking a glance at her now and again, peeking around his monitor.

She never noticed, thankfully.

It was a small thing to show her out and then lock up behind them, her hands in her pockets and his anxiously fiddling with his keys.  The walk toward the employee lot seemed slow and endless, footsteps echoing off the shut-up storefronts and high ceilings.  Everything seemed so dim, despite the fact that the overhead lights were still on.

“I didn’t think you were closing tonight,” he said out of the blue, the words lured out of his mouth by the silence before he could stop himself.  Fantastic, now he sounded like he was stalking her.  “That is- I thought I saw Jethann.  Earlier.”

“He was here, I was just closing for him.  Had a hot date.”  Her eyebrows waggled what was probably meant to be suggestively and instead was just adorable.

“Lucky guy.”

The air was brisk when he held the door to the parking lot open for her, swirling in around them with just a hint of autumn.  It felt nice, cooling the sweat on the back of his neck, made it easier to breathe where he felt before like his jacket was smothering him.  Beside him Bobby shivered, folding her arms across her waist.

“Did you drive, or…?” he started, thinking at least to walk her to her car - never could be too safe, and it was the courteous thing to do anyway.  Probably.

“Oh, no, you go on ahead.  I’ve got some time to kill before the next bus.”

“You can’t stand out here by yourself,” he blurted out, surprised at himself and then instantly regretting it.  He sounded so parochial but the concern was hard to shake, programmed by years of brotherhood and - well, maybe it was a poor excuse for casual sexism but he didn’t feel comfortable just leaving her here alone.  At least the words came out like a question and not some kind of barked order, but still.

“It’s fine, I’ve done it tons of times.  Usually I manage to catch the last bus on the regular schedule though, damn cookiemergency.”

“How long until the night bus?”

“Like 45 minutes?”

“Bobby.”  She looked at him.  He wasn’t certain he’d ever said her name before.  To her.  In person.  It was... odd.  He could feel his ears start to redden, and was glad for the shadows in the parking lot.  “Let me give you a ride home.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.  It’s probably not even on your way.”

“Please, I-” _Don’t insist,_ said Mia’s voice in the back of his mind.   _Just don’t._ “I really don’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.”  She shrugged, and he let out a slow breath, raising his eyebrows at himself as they headed across the parking lot toward his car.  He was going to have to get that part of himself under control.  No one enjoyed being smothered, and it wasn’t like it was really his place to-

Bobby laughed.  “What was that?”

“What?  Oh.”  Maker.  He felt himself grin a little, fumbling with his keys so he could unlock the passenger side door and hold it open for her.  “Just my stomach.  I guess I’m still not used to the late shift.”

That was an understatement.  Most banks closed at a reasonable hour like 5 PM, which was also why his transfer had come with a bump in pay, to balance out the inconvenience.  Which was, naturally, a consideration in why he’d taken the job.  Practical, and uninspired.  

“I would have brought you some cookies, buuuut… I burnt them.”

Bobby smiled up at him through the window as he carefully shut the door and he realized he was smiling back, almost - Maker preserve him - _naturally_ , a real honest to god smile and not some sort of awkward grimace.  It felt unfamiliar under his hand, rubbing at the two-day old scruff on his jaw as he rounded the car to the driver’s side and wishing sort of that he’d bothered to shave even though he thought he looked strange and too young with a clean-shaven chin.

Ironic, given that more often than not he felt ancient, like the oldest person in the room.  Maybe he was just old on the inside.  Internally old.  Was that possible?  There was definitely a part of him that was entirely shocked and moderately scandalized that there was a gorgeous twenty-something in the passenger seat of his car.  That hadn’t happened since- well, since he was also a twenty-something.

Oh no.  As soon as he opened the car door he was going to have to say something conversational.  Something not stiff and off-putting.

The door handle almost defeated him, fumbling with his key in the lock and feeling belatedly stupid that he hadn’t just pressed the unlock button on the little electronic keypad on his keyring that apparently he’d forgotten about entirely on the epic twenty-step journey into the parking lot.  

He got into the car already wishing that he would just sink through the floor and into a pit in the ground, steadying his hands against the steering wheel before beginning what was likely to be a fight with the ignition when Bobby stopped him, reaching for his keys.  “No way - is that a lightsaber?   _And_ it’s a bottle opener?  Holy shit, you really are a giant nerd aren’t you?”

Normally that was the sort of thing that would turn him red in an instant, but she sounded so delighted he couldn’t help but feel a bit, well, relieved.  He hit a button on the side and a tiny LED bulb lit up.  “It’s also a flashlight.”

“Functional _and_ nerdy, that is basically perfect.”  That did make him blush, and he quickly started the car just so the overhead light would go out and hide the streaks of color creeping up his neck.  “You’ve got to come to the movie marathon with us, it’ll be so much fun.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said cautiously, still hopeful, and was quietly gratified when she waved a hand.

“Don’t be silly, it’s always better with more people.”

“Well, I did buy a ticket,” he admitted.  “Weeks ago.”

“Giant fucking nerd, I love it.  Love it.”

She settled back in her seat, one arm up on the windowsill, still grinning to herself as the pulled out into traffic and he couldn’t help but glance at her out of the corner of his eye now and again, basking in the unmuted glow of her smile.  The blinking warning light of his own cliched cheesiness was a bit less satisfying - where did he come up with these awful phrases anyway? (he blamed Mia and his mother and all the terrible romantic comedies that had ever been forced on him in his formative years) - but altogether the ride was entirely too short.

Her apartment wasn’t terribly out of the way, in a familiar neighborhood he’d actually considered when he first moved into the city, not far past the diner where he’d taken his sister and her kids to eat the last time they’d visited.  Good burgers.

The thought of food made his stomach rumble again, lost under the quiet sound of the radio.  He almost considered asking her if she’d like to join him for dinner - well, very much considered it, if he was being honest - but lost his nerve when he saw her stifle a yawn behind her hand.

“Tired?” he asked, feeling like he was pointing out the obvious but eager to say something - anything really, to distract from how quiet it had gotten.  Bobby turned and smiled at him.

“It’s been one of those days.”

“You know,” he started, mind racing in an effort to pick his words carefully.  There was an opportunity here, if he could just- “I’d be happy to take you home on the nights we both close.”  Wait, that sounded- “I mean, give you a ride.  Home.  Drive you.  Ahem.”  Not that he even took the closing shift much, but it was about time he switched with Zevran . Probably.  From a purely professional standpoint, of course, and not at all because he was trying to make time with a girl.

Yes, ‘make time with’.  Super smooth, Cullen.  For Maker’s sake, he sounded _so old._

Seemingly immune to the broadcast of the waves of his distress, Bobby smiled at him, brows pulled together slightly into an expression one might use to greet an adorable baby animal of some kind.  “Aww, that is so nice of you!  You really don’t have to put yourself out like that.”

“Trust me,” he said, feeling as though he was about to sweat through all three layers of his clothing.  “It’s not a problem.  My pleasure, in fact.”

 _Why had he said that?!_ Did that sound - awkward?  Forward?  Maker he was _not_ good at this - if he ever had been, he definitely was not anymore.

Through some incredible generosity of spirit and/or serendipitous gift from the Maker, she did not seem offended.  

“I may definitely take you up on that, then.  Thanks for the ride, Cullen.  Night!”  She leaned over, pecked his cheek and was out of the car in a flash, bounding away through the glow of his headlights as though she were skipping through a meadow, disappearing into her building blissfully unaware of the immolating wreck she left behind her.  

He sat there in the dark, face aflame and forehead against his steering wheel, until he could manage to get it together enough to drive home.


	13. Through the Grapevine (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in the text-o-sphere...

**Jethann:**  Zevran Arainai, you need to come down here and fix this right now

 **Zevran:**  Fix what, mi cariño?

 **Zevran:**  And you are looking exceptionally handsome today, if I may say so myself

 **Jethann:**  Save it Antiva, you know what you did

 **Zevran:**  And to which particular 'doing' are you referring, my fine friend

 **Jethann:**  Your giant nerd boy is down here chasing my cookie around like she's the last fucking twinkie in thedas

 **Jethann:**  It's so cute, I can't stand it.  Do something

 **Zevran:**  He is taking the initiative then, I'm so pleased

 **Jethann:**  You would be

 **Zevran:**  Is it working?

 **Jethann:**  ¬_¬ No  

 **Jethann:**  Can’t you talk to him?

 **Zevran:**  He is not so bad.  Perhaps it better to let these things run their course

 **Jethann:**  Ugh, if you’re not going to do something why do I even keep you around

 **Zevran:**  Come over tonight, I will be happy to remind you

 

* * *

 

 **Isabela:** So surprise gifts of unsolicited sex toys - sexy or alarming?

 **Jethann:**  That depends, is this like the time you asked about surprise butt sex?

 **Isabela:**   Don’t be silly!  

 **Isabela:** Of course it is

 **Jethann:** *facepalm*  Use protection

 

* * *

 

**I** **sabela:** I’m just saying, I bet your boy could use a bit of stress relief

**Zevran:** Undoubtedly, lovely Isabela.  And yet somehow I am not entirely certain he would be appreciative

 **Isabela:** Come on, it’s just a fleshlight.  All the cool kids have one

 **Zevran:** And I believe the lady makes my point for me

 

* * *

  

**Aveline:**  Isabela, this is Aveline.  

**Isabela:**  Darling, I KNOW, it rings up with your name

 **Aveline:** Why do I keep hearing the phrase ‘dick on leg’, and why do I feel as though you must have something to do with it?

 **Isabela:**  HAHAHAHAHAHA

 

* * *

 

 **Isabela:** Are Patsy and Fenris doing it?

 **Merrill:** Doing what?

 **Isabela:**  “It”

 **Isabela:**  Knocking boots

 **Isabela:**  Checking the oil

 **Isabela:**  Doing the no pants dance

 **Isabela:**  Taking the hot dog bus to taco town

 **Isabela:** Two person push ups

 **Isabela:** Assault with a friendly weapon

 **Isabela:** Gland-to-gland combat

 **Isabela:**  Aggressive cuddling

 **Merrill:**  ??

 **Isabela:**  Are they fucking

 **Merrill:** Oh!  Haha

 **Merrill:**  No, but Fenris spends a lot of time in our freezer


	14. Bobby & Cullen vs. Awkward Dating Practices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobby continues to make questionable life choices

“Aveline, you have _got_ to stop death-gripping the controller.”

“Excuse you, I was playing console games when you were still in pigtails.”

Patsy rolled her eyes when Isabela looked askance.  “I never wore pigtails.”

“I did!” Bobby interjected brightly, around a mouthful of french fry.

“Sweetpea, you _still_ wear pigtails, no one is surprised.”

“They’re cute.”

Patsy just shook her head.  “As I was saying…”

“Oh yes, do tell.  I think you left off at ‘Spongebert’?”

Bobby snorted, laughing into her sleeve.

“It’s not like he watches cartoons okay, geez… Anyway it was very sexy, very soft and sweet and…”

“Oh god, there she goes again.  Focus Pastey, get your hand out of your pants.”

“RUDE, how dare.”

“Mind out of your pants then.”  Bobby grinned, clearly apologizing for nothing.

Patsy sighed, put upon and about to remind her sister of _who_ it was exactly who spent all of her free time smooshing fictional characters together like sexy Ken dolls on the internet when Isabela leaned over and flicked her in the boob.  “Ow, what the-”

“Afternoon ladies.”  There was only one person in the entire mall who could take a normal everyday greeting and make it sound like it just tripped over a corset on its way out of a Jane Austen novel.  “Hey Bobby.”

“Hey Cullen!  How’s it going?”

“Fine, and you?”

“Just finishing up lunch, and then back to work.”

“Same.”  He hesitated, one foot in and one foot out of the storefront, clearly uncertain of whether or not he ought to completely cross the threshold.  Probably because all three of them were now staring at him from behind Bobby’s back.  “Ah, well.  See you all later.”

“Okay, bye!”  As usual, Bobby seemed not to notice, swivelling back around in her chair and continuing to stuff her face with takeout.  The rest of them exchanged a glance.

She couldn’t take it.  “Okay, what is going on with _that?_ ”

Bobby blinked.  “With what?”

Patsy stared at her like it was obvious.  “You and that guy.”

“Who, Cullen?”  Patsy was still staring, eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “Nothing?  We’ve been hanging out a bit.”

“Hanging out?”

“You know.”  Bobby gestured vaguely with her french fries.  “Hanging out.  What friends do.”

“And you’re sure you’re just friends.”

“Well what else would we be?”

“I think what Patsy is trying to say,” Isabela interjected diplomatically.  “Is that _that_ is a fine-ass specimen.  Speci- _man_.”

“And that you tend not to notice certain things. And send mixed signals.”  Aveline ran her character off the edge of a cliff.  “Shit.”

“I do not!” Bobby protested, face falling, and Isabela shot Aveline a narrow glance.

“This coming from the woman who bought Donnic flowers, and then chickened out and pretended they were for _her_ because someone in her family died.”

“I did do that, didn’t I.”

“Yes, yes, you did.”

Aveline ran another character off the edge of the same cliff.  “Shit.”

Isabela reached over and hugged her, smooshing Bobby against her boobs.  “Don’t let the mean old lady upset you, sweet thing.”

“Hooker.”

“Harpy.  Have you considered it though?”

“Considered what?”

Patsy sighed impatiently.  “The sexy noodle.”

Bobby stared at her twin.   _“What?”_

Isabela shot Patsy a warning look.  “He just seems like a nice guy is all.  Good looking, steady job-”

“Has a car,” Aveline supplied pointedly.  Both of the twins gave her a withering look.  She elected not to notice.

“Built like a brick shithou-” Isabela stopped when Bobby refocused her blank stare.  “Never considered it?”

Bobby shrugged and took a bite of her burger.  “You guys have way too much time on your hands.  Besides, haven’t I already dated more than my fair share of ‘nice young men’?  Like my share _and_ Patsy’s share.”

“That’s hardly my fault,” Patsy sniffed, taking over Aveline’s controller.  “If Mum would stop billing us as ‘double your pleasure, double your fun’-”

“That’s horrible.”

Isabela looked considering, shrugging her agreement.  “Not altogether wrong.”

“Leandra means well.  Well she does,” Aveline frowned when they all turned to look at her.  “It’s not like you couldn’t use some stability-”

“Oh boy.”

“And on that note,” Bobby jammed the rest of her french fries in her mouth at once, and pitched the container toward the trash.  “I have to go back to work.  Cookies to sell.  ‘Nice young men’ to seduce.”

“You can’t just run away from every conversation, Roberta.”

“Who’s running?”  Bobby winked at Isabela and skipped pointedly out the door.

 

* * *

 

“Are you _sure_ you really want to do this?” Jethann’s voice seemed distant over speakerphone, propped on the edge of her sink while she resolutely put on her mascara.  Not that it mattered in the least, just one more step in the automated process that had become her blind date routine.  “You could still cancel.”

“God, and risk the wrath of Darth Mum?”  She sighed, hesitated, and then shrugged and did the other eye.  “It’s just easier to sit through it.”

“It’s your life, cookie,” he said, and managed to make it sound like a reminder instead of a dismissal, even though she knew he was annoyed.  Granted, it was incredibly frustrating; she’d been on so many of these things she doubted at this point she would even remember if she’d been out with one of these guys before.  It was just an endless parade of expensive suits, bad haircuts and completely banal conversation, half-hearted efforts to level up her approval with overpriced meals and haughty bottles of wine she didn’t even enjoy drinking, as though this was some kind of fucked up dating sim and they were all just in it for the achievements.

Ugh.  At least maybe now she’d accidentally picked up enough about finance from hanging out with Cullen that she’d be halfway able to follow along once the conversation inevitably turned to assets and business.  Better a discussion about their assets than hers, anyway - those were strictly off the table.

Stressful.  Just like these stupid too-tall heels and this ridiculous black dress.  Her mother’s purchases, of course - it was practically a uniform.  She never looked more unlike herself than on these nights, all dark and sleek like an over-groomed poodle, expected to roll over and play dead on command.

Three glasses of wine in - or was it four? - and she was doing exactly that.  He’d picked a trendy little cantina that she’d been to once or twice before, the kind with low chairs and mood lighting and waitresses whose short skirts rivaled Isabela’s.

Well, to be honest nothing could really rival Isabela, as Isabela was basically sex on incredibly tan legs, but her date seemed fairly taken with the menu, both edible and visual.

Bobby sipped her wine and surreptitiously checked her phone.  She hated people who texted on dates and even in the throes of the worst kind of boredom at least tried to be polite, but the Battle of Shanxi could break out right behind Prince Perfect and she didn’t think he would notice unless the enemy tried to annex their server’s cleavage.

 _Message coming in; patching it through,_ her phone announced, Joker’s intercom voice ringing out over the overcooked risotto.  The fact that she could even make that distinction was depressing in and of itself, far too snooty sounding for someone who regularly made mac n’ cheese out of the box at 3 am.  The conversation going on across from her seemed to be in no danger of being disrupted, so she went ahead and clicked.

 **Cullen:** Hey Bobby - Are you closing tonight?

 **Bobby:**  Hey!  No, I had to leave early today so I’m good

 **Bobby:**  Thanks for checking though!  That’s really nice of you :)

There was a long pause, and a high pitched giggle from across the table that she elected to ignore, before her phone dinged again.

 **Cullen:** Not a problem, always happy to help.

Another pause.

 **Cullen:**  Is everything okay?

Was she radiating waves of annoyance into the universe?  Disturbing the Force with silent whale calls of distress?  Oh well, any port in a storm she guessed.

 **Bobby:**  Oh yeah, just on this lame date with-

Wait, no.  She hesitated, backspacing and typing something totally different, before pressing Send and staring at her phone for several moments in confusion.

 **Bobby:** Oh yeah, just running a lame errand for my mom :)

Why had she done that?  That was - she didn’t - it wasn’t like she went around announcing these things to people at random, but she didn’t exactly go out of her way to hide it either.  Most of her friends knew about her mother’s long-term plan for daughter-improvement, ill-advised as it may be.  It was even sort of a joke.

Except when it wasn’t.  Except when it was horrible.  Maybe that’s why she hesitated, not wanting to dump her weird mother drama on a person she’d known for less than a month.  Maybe she was just avoiding thoughts of Darth Mum altogether, as though thinking of her would somehow summon her out of the ether.

Perish the thought.

Usually that was the extent of their conversations, so she was surprised when another message popped up on her screen.

 **Cullen:** That’s too bad.  Grabbing a bite at Worthy’s after work, was going to ask if you wanted to join me.

Involuntarily her stomach rumbled, not at all satisfied with weird fancy food in tiny portions.

 **Bobby:** Sooo jealous, they have the best pancakes.  Raincheck?

 **Cullen:** How about tomorrow?

 **Cullen:** That is, if you’re free.

 **Bobby:** No plans - sounds amazing!  Gives me something to look forward to :)

 **Cullen:** Great!  I’ll see you tomorrow then.

 **Bobby:** Night Cullen :)

 **Cullen:** Goodnight :)

He really was nice.  She wasn’t entirely sure what Isabela and Patsy had been on about earlier and didn’t really have any desire to get overly introspective about it.  Aveline of course was of an unfortunately similar mindset to her mother in thinking that any eligible man with a credit score above 700 was suitable enough - and she had been lucky enough to end up with Donnic of all people who in Bobby’s opinion ought to be sainted, knighted, and randomly win the lottery.  But at least she knew that Aveline really did mean well.  Her mother, sometimes… well, that was a bit less clear.

She put it out of her mind, something to deal with tomorrow.  At some point between Cullen’s text and the bottom of her glass of wine, Pierre had wrapped up his conversation and was looking at her as though mentally planning his next business acquisition.

“So gorgeous,” he said in a way that made her feel like he had completely forgotten her name.  “What do you say we go back to my place for a nightcap?”

Given that she’d drunk the better part of a bottle of wine by herself while he’d been hitting on their server, that didn’t have much appeal.  By the time she got him out of the restaurant and into the car he must have chalked it up as a loss; he only made one pass at her while waiting for the valet to pull the car around, and didn’t bother to walk her to her door.

Just as well.  That usually entailed an awkward non-kiss goodnight and some effort on her part to get them to just go away so she could take off these shitty heels and stagger up three flights of stairs and flop down on the couch like a boneless fail fillet and make wookie noises to the ceiling until she felt better or fell asleep.

She thought about texting Jethann, but decided against it.  She bothered him too much as it was with the details of these ridiculous dates, and really how much could she possibly complain about the things that happened _every single time._ And she wasn’t really ready, she guess, to hear ‘it’s your life’ again, for all that it was absolutely true.  Sometimes it just didn’t feel like it, and if she had any bright ideas on how to change that, they certainly weren’t making themselves apparent.

At a loss, she scrolled through her various messages - the name of a cookbook from Merrill, a litany of bad pickup lines from Isabela, a twelve page string of emoticons from her sister - and found herself clicking on Cullen’s name, bringing their conversation to the fore.

She was almost tempted to text him, not about anything in particular, just to see what he was doing.  Because that was what one did with new friends, right?  Send them unsolicited text messages in the middle of the night about how her feet hurt and she wanted biscuits and gravy.  That would not be weird _at all,_ and he seemed like the kind of person who had a very strict sort of bedtime thing involving sitting in a library in a full on tuxedo, smoking a pipe and reading a book about something incredibly serious.

God, that was the worst mental image, but try as she might she couldn’t really picture him in anything but a suit.

The worst.  Why was she even thinking about this anyway?  Still feeling guilty about the almost-but-not-quite lie she’d written earlier, probably.  Not that it mattered, but it had been completely needless and it made her feel like an almost-but-not-quite bad person.

Oh well.  Weird - and stupid - but definitely nothing a bowl of macaroni and cheese wouldn’t cure.

 

* * *

 

He couldn't believe she'd said yes.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. This wouldn't be the first time they saw each other outside of work - wouldn't even be the first time they ended up at this particular diner, but it was definitely the first time that he'd gotten up the courage to ask ahead of time.  If he'd thought she'd shoot him down outright he wouldn't have, mostly as a concession to his dubious ego and out of a genuine lack of desire to make things awkward. Especially when they seemed to be going sort of well.

So he thought anyway.  Of course he hadn't actually come out and told Bobby why he was asking, and couldn't even really reasonably regard this as a 'date', but there wasn't really anything to keep him from hoping it might turn into one.

Foolish probably, especially given how out of practice at it all he seemed to be, but Isabela of the video game store and the extremely short skirts had come in for change and had stared at him appraisingly for an uncomfortably long while before declaring airily that he'd do.

He had no idea what that meant of course, but Zevran had assured him it was a good thing, enumerating her - and his own - good taste in men.

So that was something.

He managed to stay away from her side of the mall all day, eating lunch at his desk in the back and skipping what had become a habitual trek to the food court for cookies, even though Zev bemoaned the lack of snickerdoodles. He wasn't entirely sure what that was about because Zev never seemed to eat any of them, but he was willing to assume he was being baited without actually snapping at the hook.

He was going to see her later, that was good enough for him.

She was lovely, as always. He'd begun to be quite fond of the t-shirts she wore for work with their goofy cookie slogans, not the least the one she was wearing today that read 'take a bite out of me', a cartoon chocolate chip cookie on the front with a piece missing.  It made him think - well. Probably things he was better off not thinking while actually in her presence if he was going to be even halfway capable of conversation.

And more than anything she seemed happy to see him, linking her arm through his in the parking lot and chattering away pleasantly on the drive, laughing when he managed to be funny. That was quite difficult honestly, and mostly it seemed to be by accident, but she had a beautiful smile and it was worth the awkwardness and occasional embarrassment to see it.

Maker.  Even in his head that sounded cliche.

“So, Mr. Rutherford.  Is there a Mrs. Rutherford?”

Cullen nearly spit out his water.  “What?”

Bobby blinked at him. “You know.  Are you single?  Married?  It’s complicated?”

Both of his eyebrows lifted and stayed raised, a small shake of his head as he mopped up a trickle of spilled water with his napkin.  “Sorry, ah - no.  Not married.  Single, I suppose.”

“Not ‘it’s complicated’?”

“Well it’s always complicated, isn’t it?”  

“Isn’t that the truth.”

It was, he supposed, but the whole thing struck him as sudden.  And slightly alarming.  Where was this coming from?  Not that he hadn’t spent a lot of time lying on his couch with a book over his face thinking about what he ought to say if things of this nature ever did come up - casually, of course - in conversation, but it felt sort of like the thing with Zevran and the cookies, as though he was skirting the rim of a pit with a very very long drop.

She wasn’t exactly staring off into space but she wasn’t entirely present either, and he wanted to reach out and put his hand over hers where it rested on the table.  Only that seemed sort of weird, something that she might do that he wouldn’t dare, so instead he clumsily straightened his silverware like a complete neurotic and blurted out, “Is everything okay?”

God, why had he asked that.  What if everything wasn’t?  What if there was something wrong? Not that he was against listening to her talk about it, but what if it was something serious?  What if it was something personal?  What if it was something romantic?  Zev had mentioned she was single but now in retrospect he’d never actually come out and asked her, and now his future was flashing before his eyes and there was very little he wanted less at this moment than to listen to Bobby Hawke’s potential boy problems.  

Man problems.  

He was a problem, his brain, specifically, was a problem.

It took him a solid minute to snap out of his thoughts and to realize that she was laughing at him.  Not unkindly, but it did send him fully into blushing, shifting awkwardly in his seat and readjusting the position of his napkin on the table.

_Your napkin? Really, Rutherford?  Just stop touching things._

“I’m sorry, it’s really none of my-”

Bobby shook her head.  “No, it’s my bad, I shouldn’t have laughed.  Everything is fine, you just looked so _serious-”_

Couldn’t argue with that.  Fortunately their food came a second later and provided enough of a distraction that his face went back its normal color, dithering with his eggs in an attempt to seem like he was in control and not in the throes of some kind of horrible internal meltdown.

“- I just realized that I didn’t really know.” She picked up, as though they’d never left off, smiling adorably around a mouthful of pancake.  “Figured I should ask.  Get to know you better.  If that’s okay?”

“No- I mean, yes, of course.”  Maker help him, she’d surprised him and now he’d forgotten how to use a fork.  “Ask me whatever you like, I’m an open book.”

Dinner was over in a flash, but the check took forever to come - not that he minded, or really even noticed.  Bobby was - Maker, she was funny, and smart, and disarming in the sort of way that found him telling her all sorts of odd things about himself, stories that he hadn’t thought of in ages.

She had stories of her own, mostly silly things about she and Patsy, whom he now found slightly terrifying.  Many things about the romance that had apparently blossomed at Zevran’s party right under all of their noses, laughing so hard into her hands she was almost crying.

“Maker, no wonder he looked like he wanted to flay me alive,” he mused, sitting back in his chair.  He’d loosened his tie at some point and he wasn’t even sure when, the top button of his shirt undone.  It was messy, sort of, close to it, but he felt much more comfortable in her presence than he had two hours before, anxiously fantasizing about her and trying to count out singles in his bank drawer.  

 _Thinking_ about her.  Not fantasizing.  Fantasizing was - something else.

“When he came back and you guys were talking about Star Wars, I thought he was going to freak out.  He probably thought you were hitting on her.”

Cullen laughed shortly, eyebrows going up at the irony.  “I like your sister, but not in that way I’m afraid.”

“Well Fenris will be happy to hear it I’m sure.  Provided he ever gets over it.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later.  He won’t serve me anything but a soy latte anymore, and I’m allergic to soy.”

“Really?”

“Well, no.  But it isn’t proper milk.”

“Should have figured you for a purist.”

“What can I say, I like what I like.”  Speaking of which… “Bobby-” he started, only to be interrupted by the universe in the form of their ticket finally arriving, plunked down at his elbow by the shrewd-eyed older lady who worked the late shift.

“Here you are kids, sorry about the wait.  Gentleman always pays, am I right?”  The wink she gave Bobby was about as subtle as a frying pan to the side of the face.

“Aww Edwina, leave the poor guy alone,” Bobby smiled and reached over the table, pulling the receipt out from beneath his fingers before he could even react. “This isn’t even a date.”

She was out of the booth in a flash, bounding to the front of the restaurant to pay their ticket while both he and Edwina stared after her, a wry sort of expression on Edwina’s face and - honestly who knows what look he was wearing at this point, he’d never had his legs cut out from under him so deftly or so fast in his life.

Not that it was a date, he reminded himself.  He hadn’t asked her on a date.  Technically speaking there was no way either of them could realistically consider this, tonight, a date.  

“Bless your heart,” Edwina sighed, and gave him a motherly little pat on the shoulder.  “You keep chipping away at it, son, she’ll come around.”

Maker, was he that obvious?  To _everyone?_ He couldn’t think of anything to say to that except for _thanks,_ and hope that she was right.


	15. Star Wars: Episode 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosplay, blaster pistols and UST - oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if you want to know more about Dog Skywalker, like an explanation, you can look for one here: http://bettydice.tumblr.com/tagged/dog-skywalker)

Patsy drew her blaster and pointed at her mirror image, eyes narrowed.

“Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid. “

She held the pose for a few seconds and then grinned. _I look so fucking good! I was born to be Hanna Solo._ This was only the second time she got to wear her costume and she was terribly excited. The movie marathon would start at 12, they were meeting the others at 11:15 and Bobby would pick her up at… _shit_ , in 5 minutes! She’d gotten up at 6 am to get everything done - where had the time gone? _Probably spent it all staring into the mirror, Paste._

Alright, outfit was complete, blaster on her thigh, hair messy and cute, a hint of eyeliner… she looked amazing and the Force was definitely with her today! Fenris would not believe his eyes and hopefully, maybe her Millennium Falcon would finally get to dock at his…

Patsy gave herself a little slap, she was travelling at light-speed again. It had been two weeks since The Party and The Make-out and they’d had lunch together almost every day since then and had snogged on more than one occasion but neither of them had ever proposed to do something after work. This was their first real date and she should focus on not scaring him away so that there would be future dates and also… docking. _You don’t want to scare him away and yet you drag him along to a Star Wars movie-marathon with like all of your friends. Way to go, Patsy! So smooth, amazing!_ But he had seemed as though he looked forward to this!

_It will be fine, Patsy, everything will be fine! Keep your blaster in your pants and maybe you’ll get to feel his again…_

A key turned in her door and she heard her sister come in. Before she could even turn around, loud wookie noises emerged from the hallway and Patsy answered them with her own. Bobby’s were better but that was probably because she was all decked out in her wookie costume - wookie head and furry boots included!

“BOBBY! YOU LOOK SO FREAKING ADORABLE!”

She ran towards her sister and hugged her close, drawing back immediately after getting a noseful of wookie-fur.

“Maker’s balls, you smell like an old lady. Do you want me to spray you with some air freshener?”

“Who cares what I smell like?”  Bobby asked, pulling the wookie head off.  Her hair stuck up everywhere, frizzy from the static. Poor Blobster, already a mess.

“Uhh,” Patsy said, staring at her sister, willing her to achieve sentience, or at least develop a clue.   _“People?”_

“Who do you think is going to be smelling me, Pastey?  Everything smells like popcorn in the theater anyway.”

Obviously it wasn’t worth the time it would take to get Boblivious to see the light of day, and waited until her back was turned to spritz her with Febreeze.  Old carpet wasn’t the most romantic of aromas, and even if her twin wasn’t going to take the opportunity to try and make sparks fly - figuratively _and_ literally - with the sexy bank noodle, she didn’t want to have to be smelling moth balls or whatever while she was trying to infiltrate Fenris’ airspace with her battle cruiser or some other horrible nerd sex pun.

“Ohmigod sister, I can’t breathe.”

“It’s for your own good,” Patsy said, spritzing her a few more times for good measure.  “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

 

* * *

 

_Frickin Pastey_ , she thought, hunkering down in her seat on the bus as she attempted to balance a wookie head mask, Patsy’s blaster pistol and her honestly-not-quite-canon replica of Chewbacca’s bowcaster her knees while being squished against the window by her sister and smelling like a vaguely tropically-scented chemical factory.  The old carpet smell wasn’t that bad, honestly!  Maybe a little dusty, but that was because this costume had been sitting in the closet for far too long because really there were never enough opportunities to cosplay some Star Wars.  Realistically she didn’t even know that much about Star Wars compared to her sister, but there were aliens, ridiculous costumes and space ships, and she was 100% there for all of it.

The guy sitting across from them was definitely staring.  She waved her furry wookie paw, and he hurriedly looked away.  Some people were just no fun.

It was a quick trip across town to the sprawling Hightown Cinema, a complex much fancier than their city probably deserved.  It was the sort of place that ought to be screening fancy film noir, and instead had been taken over by the equivalent of an over-energetic classroom of kindergartners hyped up on candy at Funalis.  

Nerds.  

She spotted at least five Prince Fenrirs on the walk up the block, and one very impressive (and probably extremely heavy) cosplay of Jabba the Hutt, slinking slowly along the sidewalk.  How that guy was going to even get in the theater she didn’t know, but her hat was off to his ingenuity and dedication.

Speaking of hats - she put the wookie helmet back on, which was sort of stuffy and severely limited her vision, but at the same time - totally worth it.

Bobby spotted Aveline and Donnic right away - or Aveline at least, because how many red-headed stormtroopers could there possibly be?  Or, well, a lot she guessed if they were all cloned from the same person... thinky thoughts to think on later.  But there was only one that she knew personally, which was the one standing next to Donnic who, gamely, was also dressed as a stormtrooper.

She naturally wasn’t responsible _at all_ for the fact that everyone, including Patsy and herself, had stormtrooper uniforms in the backs of their closet.  Not her, never.

Though she was more than a little tickled that Aveline at least hadn’t thrown hers away.  She had a sneaking suspicion that she kind of liked it, and why not - it looked amazing. Aveline was born to wear armor - it was just a pity that her police uniform didn’t include any.  How hard could it be to fasten a flagpole-with-banner to the back of a segway?  She would have to ask Sera the next time it was Pranks-giving (not a government holiday obviously, but as far as the Kirkmall was concerned it was more or less official).

“Maker, of course,” Aveline sighed, finding herself hugged by a tiny stealth wookie that had come up behind her mid-conversation.  “And Hanna Solo, it’s about time you guys got here.”

“We’re not late!” Bobby protested, pulling off the wookie mask so she could use more than just high-pitched trilling to communicate.  “Well, not hardly anyway.  You guys are always just so _early_ \- oh, hi Cullen!”  

She hadn’t noticed him standing with Aveline and Donnic.  He was looking at her with a sort of bemused expression on his face, not really smiling but not _not-_ smiling either?  Oh well.  She bounded over and gave him a hug also, which was belatedly one-armedly returned.  

“Sorry, hard to see with the mask on.  I’m glad you could make it!”

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said after a pause.   _Why was everyone looking at her strangely?_  “You look- you look very nice.”

“Thanks!” she said brightly, deciding just to ignore her weird friends and their weird looks.  Who ever understood them anyway. “Every Hanna Solo needs a trusty sidekick.  Wait, where did Patsy go?”

 

* * *

 

 The closer Fenris got to the theatre, the more costumed people he met and the more worried he became about the fact that he was wearing his usual black jeans with a black t-shirt. He could’ve at least worn a t-shirt with a print, so he didn’t have to show up there like he hadn’t spent the last few days counting down to this.

The first time he ever saw Bobby she’d been wearing a giant cookie costume, so she’d probably dress up for this as well. But maybe Patsy wouldn’t? _Ugh_ , why was he so nervous about this. Things with Patsy were going great and now they would spend the entire day together. In a dark theater. Ample opportunity for… things.

When he spotted her in the lobby she was still alone, buying a ‘Prince Fenrir Cinnamon Bun’. _Oh good, she’s not wearing a… is that a blaster? It is. It is a blaster. She’s Hanna Solo, you should know that Fenris!_ He sidled through the masses of various star wars creatures until he stood next to her, announcing his arrival with a cough.

“Fenris! You’re here!”

Patsy shoved the rest of her cinnamon bun in her mouth and gave him a quick hug.

“Shu shud haf one ov shese, shei amashing.”

Fenris had become quite accustomed to hearing Patsy speak with her mouth full over the past two weeks, so he just chuckled and patted her back as she almost choked while swallowing the last bit.

“I like your costume.”

Patsy drew her blaster and pulled the trigger, making it light up and play a few very convincing ‘blaster-sounds’.

“Hanna Solo. I'm captain of the Millennium Falcon. Chewie here tells me you're lookin' for passage to the Alderaan system?”

Was this one of the things where she quoted something and he should quote something back? Because he was kind of at a loss… Should he have watched the movies to prepare for watching the movies? Patsy was looking at him expectantly, her smile faltering a bit, probably realising that she’d invited along the worst person to bring to a cosplay-studded movie marathon. Her eyes were now taking in his outfit, probably matching it against all possible Star Wars characters and coming up blank.

“I, uh, didn’t have a costume. Sorry.”

“Oooh! Don’t worry, I just bought this lightsaber! You can have it and then you’re like a hipster Darth Justice or something!”

She pressed the plastic stick into his hand and he cautiously tried out a few fencing moves. Well, this was actually not that bad.

“Thank you. ...you think I’m a hipster?”

Patsy just laughed and gave him a quick kiss. A bit too quick for Fenris, prompting him to hold her close and kiss her again, her lips still carrying the sweetness of the cinnamon bun. As they parted, Patsy’s face was flushed and she straightened her blouse.

“Okay, uh, well… let’s go back to the group!”

He followed her towards a group of cosplayers… _oh_. He saw two Stormtroopers and a wookie -  Bobby was actually wearing a wookie costume. At least he was not the only one without a costume, stupid _Cullen_ was wearing his usual dress-shirt, all ironed and shit.

As they joined the others, Fenris contented himself with giving everyone a short nod as a greeting but was immediately embraced by two furry wookie-arms and engulfed by a freshly-febreezed-carpet smell.

“Hi Fenris! You made it! And you’re even dressed up, lightsaber and all! So awesome!”

Apparently, Bobby had gotten over whatever her issue had been with him and he just raised his lightsaber as an answer. He had just been freed from the wookie, when somebody squeezed between him and Patsy and put their arm around his shoulder.

“Hello, my pretties! Oh Bobby, didn’t they have any ‘sexy wookie’ costumes? Well, you look _adorable_ , at least.  Aveline, loving the armour, you could take me prisoner any time!”

It was Isabela, clad in a pair of extremely short, extremely golden hot pants, the exposed skin of her legs and arms shimmering with something he was sure he’d soon find all over his shirt.

“And what are _you_ supposed to be?”

Aveline gave Isabela a disapproving look and Fenris suddenly hoped that she would never have a reason to look at him that way. You could take the Mall Cop out of the Mall, but…

“I’m the robot!” Isabela let him go and turned around so that everyone could get a good look at her ‘costume’. “ _Obviously_. Let’s see, we also have Darth Broody, Hanna Solo - more like Hottie Solo - and… uh, Cullen, I guess.”

Fenris smirked as all eyes fixated on Cullen, who immediately started blushing under the onslaught of attention. Patsy decided to help him out, for some reason.

“Aw, it’s okay. We can always get you one of those Dog Skywalker masks!”

“Oh, actually, I do kinda have a costume…”

Cullen cleared his throat and opened the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing an R2-D2 t-shirt underneath. _What a nerd._ It really didn’t warrant everyone going “ooh” and “aah”, it was just a shirt.

“Oh my, what do we have here!”

Isabela went up to Cullen and without further ado undid all his buttons and practically ripped the shirt off. To reveal the body of someone who apparently went to the gym every morning and every night, because he had no friends and no life, it was the only way Fenris could explain all those… muscles. How did he squeeze them into his suits every morning? Like a boring, tall, well-ironed Superman. _Ugh._

It was a good thing the cinema chose this moment to announce that the first movie would start soon and everyone was advised to make their way into the theater. Fenris took Patsy’s hand in his, narrowing his eyes at Cullen as they passed him. Patsy squeezed his hand and then looked back over her shoulder.

“Bobby, are you coming?”

Patsy’s twin stood frozen in place, looking as though she’d seen an angry wampa. When she noticed her sister’s questioning stare, she just shrugged and put on her wookie head, following them into the theater.

 

* * *

 

_???????????????????????????_

“Bobby, are you coming?”

_!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

Bobby jammed the wookie mask on over her head and squeezed her eyes shut beneath it, opening her mouth to silently continue to scream, willing the rest of her body to stay still and not throw her arms out to the sides like Darth Justice.

_Everything is fine, everything is fine, EVERYTHING IS NOT FINE._

“Sis?”

“I’m okay,” she said, muffled, having walked straight into the wall in the darkened theater.  She couldn’t see bloody anything with this damn mask on, but hell if she was going to take it off - her face was so red it was probably signaling space aliens on Mars.  “I am O-K.”

Liar liar pants on fire.  Actually her entire body seemed to be on fire, and she wasn’t sure whether to blame the extremely insulating fabric of the wookie suit, a gratuitous allergic reaction to febreeze, or the fact that for the first time ever she had a very clear image of what Cullen looked like out of a suit.

No - _shit_ , that sounded bad, like she was standing there in the dark thinking about him naked, which - OH GOD why was she standing in the dark thinking about him naked?!

Not good.  Extremely not good.

How the hell were real people even built like that anyway?  All - broad and - flexy and - crap, she was making actual hand gestures, standing in the corner of this shitty theater trying not to go up in flames.

_It’s okay Bobby, breathe.  Just breathe.  Everything is under control.  So what if he’s hot - so what?  He’s still, um, nice and stuff.  Things.  It is totally normal that you never noticed that before.  This does not mean that you are strangely attracted to the idea of R2-D2 with rippling pectorals._

Or did it.  Or didn’t it.  She didn’t know and she was half a second away from doing the Doctor Zoidberg shuffle out the door and into oblivion when someone jostled into her and reminded her that she was obstructing the corridor like a misplaced wookie statue.  If she didn’t go and sit her ass down like everything was fine, it would be obvious that everything definitely _wasn’t_ fine.

And then there would be questions.

And staring.

And more questions.

And then she would basically curl up in her wookie suit and die, hoping for a volcano to open up under her feet so she could just roll herself into it.

Of course everyone else was already sitting, managing to wrangle half decent seats despite the crowd.  Probably thanks to Aveline and Donnic who somehow managed to impose order wherever they happened to go, and - it was a fucking conspiracy probably, because the only seat left was in the middle, Aveline and Donnic on one side and fucking Hercules on the other, with Patsy and Fenris down at the end.  Every once in a while Fenris would look across her sister to glare at Cullen, who seemed to be awkwardly keeping his eyes to himself and on occasion making small-talk with Donnic, and - honestly who knew what was going on with these people, this was the worst.

Or was it.

Why was she getting so worked up over sitting next to Cullen, anyway?  She’d sat next to him a billion times - hell, she’d hugged him not even fifteen minutes ago, and now, what - because he happened to be a little bit more _defined_ than she’d anticipated, she was freaking out like some priggish Victorian nobleman who’d spied a flash of ankle?

Yes, honestly.  Yes.  And it didn’t really make sense yet and maybe it never would, but she was just going to have to buckle down and try and focus and not burst into embarrassed, semi-aroused flames in her theater seat.

_Aroused?  Bobby, are you serio- shut up, just shut up._

_Looks damn good in a pair of jeans though._

_OH MY GOD STOP._

She tried to plan her approach logically and rationally and then ended up climbing over the legs of half a dozen of people she didn’t have to, basically for the sole purpose of not having to risk falling into Cullen’s lap.  Exhausting and nearly impossible to do with the wookie mask on but she did it anyway, muttering to herself the entire time.  She thought Donnic maybe shot her a sympathetic look but she wasn’t sure because she didn’t dare actually make eye contact with anyone, because then they would _know._

“Everything okay?”  Cullen said, leaning over to her as she all but fell into her seat.  “You disappeared, I thought we lost you.”

She started to answer and only wookie noises came out.   _Fuck._ God, this shitty mask was going to have to come off or she was going to suffocate to death in mango-scented carpet.

“I had to pee,” she blurted out, yanking the mask off her head.  

_What?_  

“Because reasons?”  

_Bobby, why._

“Oh,” he said, head cocked to one side, the little line forming between his brows that always reminded her of the dog her father had when they were kids.  It didn’t sound like a very nice comparison, but Toothless had been the best dog in the whole world - loving, loyal, utterly tolerant and without expectation, completely opposite her mother, who -

_What the hell Bobby, he's a guy, not a golden retriever!_

They lapsed into silence, Bobby clutching the wookie head in her lap and Cullen alternately trying not to look at her or Patsy and Fenris - who were doing Maker knows what anyway - lifting a hand to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck.  It made the R2-D2 shirt sort of stretch over his torso, leaving not a whole hell of a lot to the imagination beneath the printed fabric.

“I really like your shirt,” she blurted out, all of a sudden, feeling a weird desperate need for there to be not _not-_ talking.  Normally conversation was easy, but not today it seemed.  

“Thanks,” he said, sounding almost relieved, looking down at himself.  “It’s a little, ah- it doesn’t really fit, but my nieces aren’t really old enough to understand sizes.”

_Tell him it looks good._

_Fuck, no, tell him it’s fine._

_It’s fine? What?  Say something about cute kids, or make a joke, or make a joke about cute kids, Bobby do SOMETHING at least._

Of course she did nothing but acknowledge his words with a desperate smile and then immediately turn her face away to silently scream into the void, letting things taper off into more awkward silence as the lights dimmed and the theater screen lit up.

Maker, it was really, really hot under this wookie costume but she didn’t dare take it off.  It was going to be hard enough to pay attention to the movie without trying to figure out how to share the armrest with his extremely well-defined forearms, rubbing her stupid noodle arms up against his biceps.

She decided to solve that issue by just letting him have it, only he didn’t take it probably out of some weird misguided attempt at being polite, and so it sat empty between them while the movie played and her arms cramped from clutching the stupid wookie head.  The very second the credits started to play and the lights came back up, she threw it at Aveline and sprinted out of the theater, weaving her way through the crowded lobby to throw the doors open and fall to her knees on the sidewalk outside, tearing off her jacket.

A freckle-faced Obi Wan with glasses applauded.  Fantastic.

She just sat there a moment, really not caring that the ground was probably filthy, letting the breeze dry the sweat on the back of her neck and thankful that she hadn’t done something incredibly dense like not wear a shirt beneath this ridiculous wookie jacket.  She looked strange without it on, shaggy shoes and pants held up by smiley-face suspenders over a white tank top like some kind of weird redneck satyr, but there was no way she was going to be able to sit wth it on through two more movies without dying of dehydration.

Cullen’s biceps were just going to have to deal.

Her sister caught her eye through the glass, motioning for her to come back inside.  Patsy didn’t even blink at the state of her sister’s attire, just seeming to take it for granted that Blobby was doing something Blobby-ish that defied all logic and reason, hooking an arm around her sister as they made their way back inside.

 

* * *

 

“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…”

For the second time today the beloved words appeared on the screen, but while she had been excited and relaxed in her seat at the beginning of _A New Hope_ , now she was on edge and nervously shifting around. She had been _so_ ready to immerse herself fully into Star Wars for the whole day - she’d been looking forward to this ever since Bobby had texted her the news 5 months ago at 4 in the morning. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that she’d be watching this next to _Fenris_ of all people, which was _very_ distracting as it turned out.

Sharing an armrest. Their arms pressed together. His index finger stroking the back of her hand. By the end of the movie, Patsy was ready to climb on Fenris’ lap, rip off his shirt and start licking him all over. She’d tried to cool herself down during the break, splashing water on the back of her neck in the ladies’ room and muttering supportive things at her mirror image. _Stay strong! Don’t snog him in a theatre full of costumed nerds! You are a sensible woman in control of her sexual appetite!_

As soon as the Prologue had finished crawling its way across the screen, Fenris’ fingers closed around her hand, his leg pressed against hers and she knew she wouldn’t be able to make it through this movie in a decent way.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t give a shit about the frozen landscape of Hoth, because it did nothing to distract her from the heat that flared up in her body wherever Fenris touched her. She turned her head around to find that he was already looking at her. They stared at each other for a long moment, Patsy trying to signal him with her eyes that she was _ready for anything, Maker, so fucking ready_ … and then he leaned closer and… _oh Maker, oh wow, his lips, on my neck, oh no this is so hot, oh no, don’t make sex noises now Patsy, hnnnng._

By the time Hanna Solo found a half-frozen Dog Skywalker in the snow, she wasn’t even attempting to look at the screen anymore, her eyes closed and head thrown back as Fenris wrote the script to all three movies on her neck with his lips. And _Andraste’s checkered knickers,_ there was his tongue as well. She was acutely aware of Cullen on her other side and the way he pointedly looked the other way and she was sorry, but there was no way she could tell Fenris to keep his mouth to himself. Maybe it would inspire Cullen to investigate her sister a little bit more, though who in their right mind would want to get closer to a sweaty mess of wookie fur and desperation, she couldn’t say.

A very determined hand on her leg chased away all thoughts of even the existence of other people, inching ever closer to places that _really_ wanted to be touched, but maybe shouldn’t be, here, in a theater. She should proooobably move his hand before it _made contact_ , but it was hard to go through with that decision while Fenris’ teeth playfully nibbled at her earlobe.

But, since she was a sensible woman in control of her sexual appetite, she took his hand and lifted it from her leg. Fenris’ mouth left her neck for the first time in a very long time - _shitty bollocks, she would probably have five billion hickey’s when they left the theater_ \- and he looked at her, worry that he’d gone too far all over his face. Patsy raised her eyebrows and motioned at Cullen’s general direction, trying to convey that while she’d love his hand in all kind of places, that would have to wait until they were alone somewhere. Maybe during the next break in a broom closet. _No, bad Patsy, you’re here with friends._

Fenris just smirked at her, shrugged and then put her hand on _his_ leg. _Oh fuck, I’m in trouble._

 

* * *

 

“Patricia Hawke, what the actual shit?!”

Patsy was still grinning like an idiot under the bathroom lights, practically swooning against the sink.  Her cheeks were flushed bright pink, and all down her neck were little cherry red marks that left absolutely no doubt in her sister’s mind exactly what she’d been up to with Fenris.

Right there.

In the theater.

With the rest of them sitting _right there_ , and half of Kirkwall behind them, probably staring.

“Damn you, Darth Justice,” she said and clenched her fist, not realizing that she’d said it out loud until Patsy looked at her.  And giggled.

“I think he likes me.”

“You don’t say.”

She was going to have to start giving Fenris scary looks again if they were even remotely going to have a chance of making it through this last movie.  She’d rather watch the Ewok party on loop than have to bear witness to her precious twin having freaky Star Wars sex on she and Cullen’s laps.

Though _that_ at least would be more awkward than the whole tight-shirt-shared-armrest mess.  And Aveline would probably be morally obligated to take out her blaster pistol and murder them all, so maybe it wasn’t entirely a terrible idea.

No, wait, gross.  What was she thinking.

After the movie started she spent so much time trying to gird her ears from the possibility of hearing any of Patsy’s accidental sex noises and/or awkward slurping sounds that she forgot to be uncomfortable in her seat, staring across Cullen at Fenris, who just gave her this sort of chagrined and yet smug little smile that made her throw her hands up in defeat.

Whatever.  Burn it all down.  Just blow it all up like the Death Star.

Before she knew it she was shoulder to shoulder with Cullen, irritably stuffing her face with popcorn out of the bag he offered her while scowling precipitously at the movie screen.

She must have looked as though she was about to yell out angry wookie war cries and go on a small furry rampage, because Cullen caught her eye and lifted his eyebrow in question.  He looked so genuinely concerned (and clueless, bless him) that she couldn’t help but put on a little smile and shake her head what she hoped was reassuringly.

Maker, he was so _nice_ wasn’t he?  And apparently had more mental fortitude than she did, what with how stoically he was putting up with the Hanna Solo shenanigans on his left.  Her sister had definitely gone over to the dark side.

Ugh, after this she was going to need a drink.  Many drinks.

They managed to make it all the way through to the end without anyone’s underwear being thrown against the screen, and by the time the credits rolled she was mostly in a good mood again, happy to hear Aveline and Donnic talk nerdy to one another in their adorably matching stormtrooper uniforms.

She had the best friends, honestly.  And the worst sister.

Patsy and Fenris preceded her up the aisle toward the lobby, having graduated from hand-holding to arms about one another’s waists.  At least there was no full-on ass-grabbing - _yet_ \- though Pastey looked awkwardly hesitant when Aveline, full of energy from the movie, boisterously declared that they were going down to the Hanged Man for a round of drinks.  Bobby almost expected her to try and beg off so they could, who knows, go and make out awkwardly on a bus to hell, but no one gainsaid an enthusiastic Aveline hopped up on vintage sci fi, not even her incredibly horny sister.

* * *

 


	16. Star Wars: Episode 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to heat up at the Hanged Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to you, Dakoyone! Without you and SWTOR I would not be able to get any of these Star Wars references. <3 Cynic

The Hanged Man was packed to the rafters, the noise of voices and music almost deafening when they walked through the door.  The bar was within walking distance of the theater and had by default become an extension of the festivities, costumed patrons rubbing elbows over their pints and pitchers.

It was a little more than Cullen was used to, slightly overwhelmed, allowing himself to be pulled along in Aveline’s wake when Bobby slipped a hand into his, making the most of the small triangle of space that opened up behind the indefatigable redhead.

That was - well.  The most contact they’d had since she hugged him in greeting at the theater; she’d been oddly quiet and evasive afterward, but what was he expecting - they were watching movies, he could hardly expect anyone to make conversation.  And she’d obviously had her hands full with Patsy, whom he was still hesitant to make eye contact with, given the ah - level of friendliness that had developed between she and Fenris over the course of the trilogy.

Very hard to maintain composure with all of that going on next to him, especially with Bobby right there on his other side.  That would have been distracting enough, especially considering his current state of dress.  Or undress, given his level of self-consciousness, but his gray button-up had gone missing after he’d made the dubious life choice of revealing Lizzie’s most recent Wintersend gift so he wasn’t sure what he ought to do but persist as he was.  At least he was thematically appropriate.

Faux costume or not, though, the damn shirt was way too small.

It was as raucous as Mos Ila in here, Rattataki rubbing elbows with Zabrak and Chiss and the occasional Twi’lek, a trio of young women wearing a rather lot of green body paint and not much else taking shots at the bar.  Even still, somehow Aveline found them an empty booth shoved way back in the corner, probably sending its original inhabitants scurrying away like terrified Jawas with her all-too-character-appropriate glower.

Somehow he ended up next to Patsy again, _again_ , which really wasn’t an issue at all except that Fenris had defaulted back to giving him the equivalent of hate lasers from the eyes for reasons he didn’t entirely understand.  Aveline shoved Bobby in next to him and sat down beside her, with Donnic gamely pulling up a rickety chair to complete their circle.

It was a bit, ah - close, even closer than in the theater, with the twins pressing in on either side of him.  He hunched his shoulders to make a little room for Bobby, who was in danger of being smacked every time Aveline gesticulated, and it scarcely made a difference - that clearly wasn’t going to work.  She glanced over at him when he shifted to the side, drawing his arm up to lie across the seat back behind her with an apologetic grimace.

“Is this alright?” he asked, instantly made paranoid by the way she went very still despite the ruckus, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.  “If you’re not-”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, eyes flicking to his and down again in the space it took to smile, shrugging her shoulders and repositioning a little closer to his side in the gap that had been made for her away from Aveline’s emphatic vambraces.

Fine, but also not fine it seemed, and he hoped it wasn’t something he’d done.  He’d been trying a little harder as of late - not that she seemed to notice the difference, of course - but _he_ was all too aware, much energy spent in trying to gauge her reaction, not willing to push too hard and cross any invisible boundaries that might alienate her completely.

There were moments when he thought he might have already done so, some how, watching her shy away from touching him when it hadn’t seemed to be an issue before, or with anyone else.  He ought to take it as a sign to just back off then and there, but his discipline was not what he wished it was, and it was very difficult not to respond in some way when she ended up basically pressed against his side.  He wanted to drop his arm down to curl around her, even if it was just to protect her from the rampant hand gestures of an overenthusiastic stormtrooper.

_Right, you just keep telling yourself that._

Resolving to try his best to do no less and no more than he had been, he squared his shoulders and tried to pay attention to the conversation.

“We all know I’m not one to got very emotional, but when Dog goes and helps Darth Justice take off his helmet…” Aveline was saying, sighing and smiling wistfully.  For the first time she didn’t look like Aveline The Mall Cop but Aveline An Actual Human Being With Friends And A Partner And Nerdy Interests and it made him wonder, for a small moment, whether everyone saw him as Cullen The Suit-Wearing Banker or… just Cullen.

“I can confirm, there were actual tears!”

Donnic laughed as Aveline tried to shush him with her hand over his mouth and then offered up a round of drinks.

“I can’t stay much longer though, I promised my niece to come to her elementary school production of   _The Three Hungry Mabari_.  She plays the hungriest one, I’m told.”

“Aww, how cute!” Bobby said immediately, unsurprisingly, but Aveline made a face.

“Oh right, the play.  I guess - should we go?”

“Awwwwww!”

“Aw, can’t she stay?”

The twins picked up on Aveline’s disappointment immediately and simultaneously turned huge sad eyes and pouts on Donnic, who raised his hands as though to ward them away, and then threw his arms out to the sides in a terribly mockery of Darth Justice.  “Not the puppy dog eyes, nooooooo!”

Aveline rolled her eyes but looked secretly pleased, and Cullen couldn’t help but chuckle, trying to hide it by clearing his throat.  “I’d be glad to drop everyone off,” he said, suddenly shy when all eyes turned to him.  “Ah - I’m driving anyhow, so I won’t be indulging.”

“Can she Donnic?”  Patsy asked, still playing up the huge sad eyes for all they were worth.

“Pleeeaaasseeee?”  Bobby chimed in, batting her long lashes, and Donnic burst out laughing, covering his eyes with one hand.

“Don’t ask me, ask the boss.  I just do what she tells me to.”

“Well.”  Aveline looked considering, clearly eager to stay.  “I suppose that _could_ work.”

Donnic wasn’t fooled in the slightest.  “It’s settled then.  Sir, I leave these ladies - and gentleman - in your care.”

“Our hero,” Patsy said, affectionate gaze already back on Fenris.  Beside him Bobby rolled her eyes as Aveline proceeded to wash her hands of all further responsibility, ordering another pitcher when their first had been divvied out.

“Oh Maker help us,” he heard Bobby sigh beneath his arm, lifting a hand to rub at her temples.

“What’s wrong?”

“You- oh, you don’t _even_ know.”  She said it in a way that he found worrying until he realized that she was laughing beneath her palm, turning to look over at him.  “The have a cider special on tonight.  Aveline really likes cider.  Like,  _really_ likes it.  A lot.”

They both glanced over to where Aveline was saying goodbye to Donnic, finishing off his half-glass in addition to her whole one, already a bit flushed in the face and grinning.  Cullen met Donnic’s eyes as the man straightened, mouthing _sorry_ and _thank you_ before snapping his helmet in place and disappearing into the crowd toward the door.

“So much,” Bobby reiterated, shaking her head.

“I see.”

“Oh, you will.  You definitely will.”

* * *

  
In retrospect, maybe they should have gone somewhere with food.  The Hanged Man’s mystery meat pies were not to be trusted and frankly the french fries just weren’t any good, but that was probably because Corff spent more time on stocking cheap beer than he did on the food service.  As a big fan of cheap beer, it wasn’t like Bobby was going to complain.

Three ciders in, however, and Aveline was at least one sheet to the wind.  Experience told her that it was only a matter of time before the whole theoretical notebook started coming apart, but there was really no stopping her.  It was sort of like walking into Mordor; one did not simply _tell_ Aveline to put down the cider, one just waited for her to throw up and then pushed her over onto the nearest couch.

“You have to admit,” she was saying, pointing at Patsy across the table.  “Young Darth Justice is pretty damn hot.”

Instinctively Bobby made a face - like this wasn’t the fortieth time they’d had this discussion.  “Yeah, but he’s like out of his frickin mind.”

Aveline considered it, again for the fortieth time and conceded.  “Granted.”

“You can’t argue with Prince Fenrir though,” Patsy pointed out, and then grinned over at Fenris who looked faintly confused, but game enough to play along.  “Tall, dark, handsome…”

“And _great_ buns,” Aveline added in, making Bobby choke on her beer, dribbling cider onto the table and coughing.

“Bobby likes Obi Wan,” Patsy teased as Bobby wiped up her spilled beer with an already sodden napkin, narrowing her eyes over the table at her twin.

“Only in the original trilogy,” she objected.

“That’s even worse.”

“It’s the beard, isn’t it?”

“Bobby just likes them super old.”  Seriously, she was going to kill her sister.

“Okay first of all,” she corrected, holding up one finger.  “He’s a Jedi, so the age thing - that shouldn't even count.  Second of all, he’s so mature.  I mean, that’s appealing, right?  Right?”  Aveline and Patsy exchanged glances, and then burst out laughing.  Bobby sulked. “You guys are bitches.”

“I'm quite partial to Hanna Solo at the moment,” Fenris offered, unexpectedly.  The chorus of groans that met that statement was completely predictable.  Patsy giggled.  Bobby slapped her palm into her forehead.

“What about you, Cullen?”  God, Aveline, why.

“Yeah, what _about_ you, Cullen?”  Fenris, what the shit.

Cullen shifted awkwardly next to her, one shoulder going up into a shrug.  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said like he was frantically trying to think of someone who hadn’t already been named. “Bela Fett, I guess?”

“Did somebody call my name?”

Like a mysterious bronze - or in this case, gold - sex goddess, Isabela all but materialized in front of them, stepping out from behind an inordinately large man with the blue markings of a Voss and his smaller cyborg companion.  She hadn’t changed out of her C3PO homage, looking as perfectly gold-leafed as she had earlier despite it having been hours, nary a fake eyelash out of place.

“Bela!”  Patsy reached over the table toward her friend for a hug, which Isabela magnanimously bestowed - along with a generous view of her cleavage for the entire table.  Cullen averted his eyes.  Bobby, as usual, didn’t.  “Where did you go?”

“You know me, sweet thing,” she said, putting on her best noir femme fatale voice.  “Places to go, people to see.”

“Your to-do list must be just so _long-”_ Aveline jibbed, and then laughed at her own joke.  Rolling her eyes with a mixture of fondness and forbearance, Isabela patted Aveline’s head.

“Someone’s been letting red cheeks here hit the cider.”

“Cullen is taking us home,” Bobby reassured, and realized belatedly how that sounded in the cadence of the conversation when Isabela arched a slim brow.

“Remind me to come to more of these parties.”

“That is _so_ not-”

“Isabela, by chance have you seen my shirt?  The-” he lost a beat there, glancing at Bobby as she stared at him and just slowly shook her head, already knowing what Isabela was going to say.  “The gray one?”

“Who cares about a shirt, sweet thing, when I’m sure we’d all rather see what’s underneath it?”  She looked him up and down pointedly, shiny gold-glossed lips curling up into a suggestive smile.  The longer she made eye contact, the redder poor Cullen’s face turned - which was probably the point, as it was both hilarious and adorable.  Bobby tried to kick her under the table and ended up kicking Aveline instead, who apparently didn’t feel it through her stormtrooper armor.

Whatever.  She gave up, nudging him with her shoulder out of habit, a quick glance exchanged that just reeked of chagrin even though a quirk of her lips got him to smile.  It didn't last, a mutual look of dismay crossing their faces as Aveline shoved over to make a space for Isabela to squeeze into, pushing Bobby bodily across the booth and practically into Cullen's lap.

Her hand landed against his chest, and she froze and then snatched it back like it was on fire.  Dammit, _something_ was on fire, _again_ , and it seemed like this time it was her face, going from pink to full on flaming red in the span of two seconds.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

That was not the response she’d been expecting and she tripped on it.  “I am invading your personal space.  Like seriously.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re just saying that,” she said and had no clue why - like she was trying to defend his niceness against being trampled by her thoughtless friends, expecting him to blush and clutch his pearls _(like she was doing apparently)_ , or turn into a frowning statue.

“Bobby.”  She stopped.  “If it’s making you uncomfortable, I can stand.”

“What?  No, not at all, that’s stupid.”  And a little bit heavy on the protesting Blobster, good job.  He didn’t remark on it though, turning a small slow smile in her direction.  She felt something move in her stomach, low and fluttering, and -

Maybe it was the beer.  Okay Bobby probably not, you’ve only had the one and you spit half of it on the table.  Still, his smile made her feel sort of warm.  In the good way, not in the ‘if have to wear this wookie suit for one more minute I’m going to break out in hives’ way.  

“It doesn’t bother me,” he said again.

“Well, good!”  She blurted out, and turned back to the table, scooting in to sit up against his side like she was trying to prove a point.  About something.  Maybe about how she found this in no way distracting _at all_ , which was a complete lie.  He didn’t say anything else, probably because he was a lot smarter than she was capable of being at this moment, and just dropped his arm down around her shoulders, hand resting lightly on her arm like a buffer between herself and Corporal Flails-a-lot, who was having some kind of enthusiastic debate with Isabela.

Well.

_Well._


	17. Star Wars - Episode 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pew Pew's and *kissy noises*

Drunk Aveline was one of Patsy’s favourite Avelines and if she had been even more happy than usual to refill Aveline’s glass as soon as it was empty, well… it had absolutely nothing to do with Darth Sexy next to her and all the _fondling_ that happened under the table. Or that she really wanted to find a quiet, _private_ place with Fenris to continue the… fondling. As soon as Aveline stood up with a raised glass to lecture everyone in the bar about the dangers of wearing Heelys in a mall and that everyone who was allowing their ‘disrespectful little buggers’ to wear them should raise their hands right now so she could arrest them, Patsy leaned back with a happy grin. Her work was done.

Aveline finished her speech with a belch and sat down again to put her head on the table.

“My pretties, it has been lovely but I have a date with the hot Yoda that just came in!”

And just like that Bela was gone, leaving nothing behind but a bit of golden body shimmer wherever she had touched something. There was a suspicious amount of gold on the palm of Aveline’s hand that laid on the table next to her head. Well, she _did_ get quite touchy when drunk.

“Everyone ready for Operation: Get Aveline into Cullen’s car?”

Bobby just sighed and rolled her eyes, already busy with trying to get Aveline into a sitting position. Patsy motioned the boys to get up and then squeezed past Fenris… probably with more body contact than was _strictly_ necessary and maybe she really didn’t _need_ to press her boobs into him like that and she might’ve pretended to stumble and put her hands on his hips for support, but then he was more than willing to steady her with his hands on her ass, pulling her closer with a smirk and…

“ _Patricia Hawke!_ Would you stop canoodling and help me with the drunk Stormtrooper?”

“Oh, way harsh Bobby, no need to use my full name like that!”

She disentangled herself from Fenris anyway and then helped her twin get Aveline back up on her feet, one arm lying heavy across her neck. Luckily the Stormtrooper armour seemed to steady Aveline’s legs enough that she didn’t just collapse immediately and suddenly a pair of wet lips was pressed against her cheek.

“I love you guys, you know that, right? Always… always gonna take care…”

“Awww, we love you too, Ave!”

Drunk Aveline, best Aveline!

“Do you guys need any help?”

Cullen nervously hovered next to Bobby, seeming more like C3-PO than R2-D2, all tall and awkward. And with the hots for her sister. Not that C3-PO had the hots for her sister. _Where am I going with this?_

“It’s fine!” Bobby’s reassurance came a little bit too quickly and Patsy narrowed her eyes at her sister, who just huffed under Aveline’s weight and shook her head. “We’re used to this!”

“Actually, Cullen, would you mind taking my spot? I feel a little… weak… from the alcohol.”

Patsy could literally feel the Lasers of Death shooting at her from her sister’s eyes as Cullen eagerly lifted Aveline’s arm from her and took her place, his arm on Aveline’s back very close to Bobby’s. Granted, with their height difference this was probably even more uncomfortable, but her sister clearly needed a little bit of helpful sisterly intervention. _Ahahahahahahahaha._ Bobby’s ears and neck were turning slightly pink - not so oblivious anymore, was she?

Once they had managed to strap Aveline into the passenger seat (“I’m gonna burn all the Heelys!”), Patsy squeezed into the backseat between Fenris and her hissing twin (“I’m going to kill you!”). This was going to be not awkward at all!

“Where should I go first?”

Patsy leaned forward and put her hand on Cullen’s shoulder.

“My flat! It’s close to Bobby’s and it’s closer than Aveline’s, it makes the most sense!”

“Oh, does it? What about Fenris?”

Patsy turned around to her sister to exchange another round of “I’ll kill you!” - “Not if I kill you first!” glares. Her grip on Cullen’s shoulder intensified and she clenched her teeth. “My. Flat. First.”

Cullen, good man, just laughed nervously and started the car without further questions except for her address. Patsy sank back into the car cushion with a content smile, immediately getting an elbow in the side from Bobby and a hand on her thigh from Fenris. Well, she knew which side of the car would get her attention.

She tried really hard to not get too carried away, after all they were in a confined space with three other people, one of them her sister who kept huffing and sighing under her breath. She just leaned against him to look into his eyes for a while and then it just made sense to put her legs over his, it would make things more comfortable for everyone, clearly. Also, it was very dark in the car, nobody probably even noticed when Fenris’ mouth began wandering along her jaw. Bobby’s fist in her back was just to steady her, not a sign of utter annoyance, definitely.

Suddenly, her leg lit up and began making blaster noises. Fenris flinched back like a cat sprayed with water and her legs slid from his knees. For a second, there was an awkward silence and Patsy felt that everyone was staring at her.

“NO PEW PEW’S IN THE CAR!”

Aveline’s Mall Cop voice bellowed from the front seat and Patsy was glad she was in the middle or she might’ve been tempted to jump out of the moving car. Well, her sister would probably be very happy to shove her out into the night as well. Right now, Bobby’s shoulders shook next to her but she wasn’t sure whether she was laughing or crying. Maybe both.

Okay, maybe no fondling or related things until they were back at her flat. No problem. She could control herself for that long. Fenris shifted in his seat, glanced at her and then leaned forward.

“I can walk as fast as you’re driving, maybe speed it up a little?”

Somehow, they made it through the rest of the car ride without further touching. Well. Only a little bit of hand-holding, but that didn’t really count. As soon as Cullen pulled up in front of her building, Patsy leaned over Fenris to open the door and then pushed him outside, only leaning back in for a whispered “better check artoo for any secret gadgets” and a louder “bye Ave, bye Cullen”, before she followed Fenris out of the car. _Finally_.

* * *

 

Bobby was seriously, seriously, _seriously_ going to kill her sister.  As if the awkward foreplay and the unauthorized _pew pewing_ hadn’t been enough, the last comment really sealed the deal.  Her face felt like it was fifty shades of on fire and she ducked her head miserably, burying herself in the bundle of wookie jacket in her arms, very tempted to do nothing but sit there and scream into its fur for the next twenty years.

Only that would be obvious, so she didn’t, sitting up awkwardly now that she was all alone in the back seat, trying her very hardest not to accidentally meet Cullen’s eyes in the rearview mirror until she was sure that she wouldn’t try to leap from the moving vehicle like a great furry coward.

Aveline was on about something in the front seat, continuously pressing the buttons on Cullen’s radio with the attention span of someone very drunk and very invested on finding just the right soundtrack for her failures at life, still grumbling to herself about mall hooligans as she slumped in the passenger seat.  She almost felt bad for Cullen, having to deal with that later on his own - almost - but then he’d volunteered.

Maker, he was just so _nice_ , that - ugh.

He was familiar now with her street and found the parking lot of her complex without needing further direction, pulling in and parking, cutting the lights but the engine still running.  He was looking - she could tell, could see the flicker of his gaze in that mirror she’d been avoiding, entirely uncertain about what to do about it until he spoke.

“May I see you in?”

“Sure,” she said automatically and didn’t let herself think too hard, leaning over into the front seat to hug Aveline, who made annoyed drunk noises and flailed ineffectually at the arms around her neck, clearly very dedicated to trying to nap.  “Will you be okay, Ave?”

“Damn kids, get off my lawn.”

_Ha._ “She’ll be fine.”

It was a lot quieter out of the car, away from the radio and Aveline’s commentary and the extremely awkward and ill-timed _pew pew-ing_ in the seat next to her.  What were they even trying to do, be subtle? They were _so_ not subtle, and she definitely did _not_ need anyone’s dick on her leg, thank you _very_ much Fenris and Patsy.  She’d get to hear all about it tomorrow.

Hopefully?

Maybe just ‘probably’.

It wasn’t a long way to the front door, but they were walking so slowly.  Her fault probably, arms full of wookie fur and mind on things that were totally none of her business.  She glanced over at Cullen, wondering idly if he’d noticed what Fenris and her twin were getting up to in the back seat of his very responsible looking car.  He wasn’t looking at her, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

They looked good on him.  The jeans, that is.  And that particular stance emphasized his shoulders, and his height, and his arms, and just -

_Stop looking Bobby, what are you doing._ Maybe she was drunk.  No, not really.  Maybe this is just what happened when you ended up sandwiched between tipsy Aveline and someone with biceps bigger than - things that are big - and - for Maker’s sake, how had she never _noticed?_

She knew what Jethann would say.  Oh no, a _nice boy_.  And an _attractive_ nice boy?  Travesty.  Better run away before he’s nice to _you_.

Not that he’d say it, of course. He’d just look pointedly at her down his nose and raise his eyebrows for the next six years.  There might be jazz hands for emphasis.

They stopped and she wasn’t sure why, realizing after a moment that they were in front of her door. She was so stupid and he was _smiling_ at her, the streetlamps picking up the light of his eyes and making them shine a warm gold.

That was sooo… overrated.  Who invented boys with nice arms and nice eyes and - she hadn’t _asked_ for this.  Had she?  Maybe.  No, definitely not, and -

“Thank you for inviting me along,” he was saying.  Nicely.  “I had a really nice time with-”

“Get out.”

“I’m- I’m sorry?”

"Are you always so polite?"

That did _not_ come out right, not at all the way she’d intended but - what had she intended exactly?  

Cullen just stared at her for a long moment, a faint mark appearing between his brows; the one that reminded her of Toothless and made her feel all - if he kept that up he was going to get wrinkles on his stupid handsome face, and -

She wasn’t expecting him to kiss her.  Or maybe she was.  Maybe she’d been unconsciously trying to goad him into it, the way that she apparently did everything: with empty-headed obliviousness and suspect motivation.

It was quick, sudden, a little bit rougher than she would have anticipated given how precise she knew him to be, how restrained.  He dipped his head and took her mouth, _hard_ , an answer and not a question.  

Definitely not a question.

She must have stumbled back, tripped over her ridiculous shoes, but she didn’t fall, his fingers tangled into the waistband of this ridiculous wookie costume.  He had her pressed against him, heat radiating off his skin in waves that she could feel straight through her clothes, pulled up on the tips of her toes as though any second he was going to pick her up off her feet.

She wished that he would, wasn’t ready for him to pull away when he did, and when their eyes met across the shortest distance that had ever been between them, she dug her fingers into his shoulder, into his hair, and pulled him back in.

There was tension in him; she could feel it in the set of his muscles beneath her hands, like a branch slowly bent until it strained to snap back.  There was nothing bruising about his touch though, not in the hand at her back nor the one that cradled her head when he put her, gently but firmly, up against the wall.  He had her at a disadvantage in height but that didn’t seem to matter; the rough masonry drug and rasped against the back of her shirt when he leaned down and pulled her up, pinning her with his hips.  Gently but firmly, one arm braced above her.  

His lips though.  She’d never been kissed like this, with intensity and focus and such _need_ that it stole her breath and left her feeling _consumed, devoured,_ clinging to him like some damsel on a terrible romance novel cover, bodice ripped and hair blowing in the breeze.

Of course she was still wearing the wookie pants and the suspenders and probably smelled like an old carpet, and they were still outside her apartment and not anywhere remotely private, all of which he was likely to be intensely aware because he was a suit-wearing adult who knew when to stop before things got too out of hand.

He did stop.  Way before she was ready.

"Not always polite," he admitted slowly, leaning back, giving her space without pulling away. His chest moved, quick breath slowing, tongue peeking out to moisten his lower lip. "Have I overstepped?"

"No.  I don't know.  What do you think?"

"I would rather not presume."

When she didn't say anything he straightened, arms falling to his sides and no longer caging her in against the wall of the building.  Maker, her eyes must be huge.  She couldn't stop staring, barely remembering to blink as his gaze slipped from hers, fled down, away and then back to her face, accompanied by the stubborn set of his jaw.

Oh no.  "Bobby."  She looked away, and then back when he said her name.  There were - something was happening, her stomach felt tight, prickles and heat all along her arms, and - were those _butterflies?_  Was she actually experiencing butterflies in her stomach?

"Cullen-" she started, already hating herself a little for the way his name sounded like an apology.  "I'm not-"

"Please, just wait.  Please.  Hear me out." He had his hands up in front of him where she could see them, making small calming motions as though he was dealing with a feral animal about to bolt. Maybe not so wrong, that analogy.  "If you say no, I will go away and I will never bother you again.  I swear."

She hesitated. "Okay."

His breath left him all in a rush, shoulders slumping in slightly as though he was relieved that she was even going to let him have his say.  That made her feel - she didn't really know how that made her feel.  "I want to see you. Socially.  As more than just friends," he clarified, before she could even open her mouth to instinctively object that he had been.

She kept expecting him to get overwhelmed and stop, to dissolve into the blushing, stammering giant she'd become accustomed to seeing him as, but he looked resolute.  Not stiff exactly, but pained, which probably had to do with whatever expression (or non-expression) was on her face.

"I like you, Bobby."  His voice was soft on her name, and she just- "I have ever since the first time we met."

And she felt really bad about that, she really really did, feeling somewhat like maybe she should apologize.  Maker she was so stupid, so oblivious, could only imagine how many things had gone right over her head, how many stupid things she'd probably done or said with absolutely no thought.  She'd probably dismissed him, or ignored him - or worse, insulted him! - a dozen times since they'd first begun spending time together, and -

God.  She really was Bloblivious.

And the worst part about it was that she wasn't even sure what to say to him.  She didn't _not_ like him, and there were those butterflies to consider. She'd never had butterflies, ever, not with anyone.  The only time she ever felt that way was while writing and that was just for the benefit of _characters_ ; now that it was happening to her in real life she wasn't sure what she should do.

Maker, she just wanted to invite him upstairs with her and have done with it.  Peel that ridiculously tight shirt off that ridiculously sexy body and just satisfy the urge so she never had to deal with it again, treat it like one of those bad blind dates and get it over wi -

_Too far, Bobby._  The thought made her feel terrible.  Ill.  She shivered once, and then again when he reached out and settled his big hands on her bare arms, thumbs curving over her shoulders.  How had she never noticed he had calluses on the insides of his palms - what did a banker even do, anyway, that would give him that many calluses?  What else had she missed?

Did she want to find out?

"Don't say anything now," he said softly.  If he was disappointed, she couldn't hear it.  "Just think about it."

* * *

 

Maybe he’d pushed too hard.

He stood outside on the sidewalk and watched her let herself into her building from a safe, polite distance away, hands carefully in his pockets.  Better there than where they really wanted to be, in her hair and under her shirt, desperate to taste the texture of her skin.

Maybe he’d miscalculated.  They’d moved so fast, leaping from touching to kissing to _more_ kissing, that he still felt heated, blushing and grinning and stupid with one hand against his lips.  Maybe he shouldn’t have allowed things to progress so quickly - it definitely hadn’t been the sweet, chaste kiss of his lame daydreams, bleeding into the gnawing hunger that stalked him at night, plaguing the weak moments between sleep and wakefulness when he wasn’t so controlled.

But he couldn’t take it back and he didn’t want to, because kissing Bobby Hawke was something he’d thought about every day since he’d seen her in that silly cookie suit.

And she’d kissed him back even when she seemed uncertain, raw encouragement in her hands and lips and -

He couldn’t think about this now, not with Aveline still in the car.  He could see her waving her hands and talking to herself as he approached the vehicle, adorably drunk on cider and probably still ranting about the evils of teenagers as though she’d never been one.

Cullen slid back into the driver’s seat and shut the door, steeling himself with a quiet sigh, both hands braced against the steering wheel.  There was nothing but silence for a long moment before Aveline shrugged, looking halfway pleased with herself like she’d orchestrated the whole thing.

“Well.  It’s about time,” she said.

And then rolled down the window and threw up on the side of his car.

 


	18. Darth Sexy & Hanna Solo vs. The UST (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they do the frickle frackle

Patsy led them to her apartment and as soon as they’d both stepped inside, Fenris closed the door with his foot and pressed her against the wall. Lips crashing against hers, finally, finally after so many hours of sitting next to each other, touching but not _enough_. He was _so horny_. The movies were like 6 long, delicious, _torturous_ hours of foreplay and then he _somehow_ had to sit another whatever-how-many-definitely- _too_ - _many_ hours in the bar, and it was nice and all but he just needed to....

He leaned against her, weight resting more on her than on his arms that he’d put next to her head, a position that brought back closet-clad memories… Just like then, his cock was getting hard as Patsy sucked on his lower lip and then she let out a soft moan as his hand glided up her side, thumb grazing her breast over her shirt. Hmm, shirt, he should get rid of that. She was still wearing her costume, which, now he could never see Star Wars again without getting turned on immediately, probably. A fate he gladly accepted in exchange for hearing more of the little noises she made, feeling her pulse race as he kissed his way down the side of her neck that had been neglected in the cinema.

It was ridiculous how much he wanted this, _needed_ this. And not just because he was just _so horny_ from all the finger play they did in the cinema. Or because he really wanted to see her naked. Which he _did_ want, naturally, and had thought about on occasion. He wanted to explore every inch of her skin, have his mouth follow his fingers, wanted to be the one to bring her over the edge, feel her shudder around him as he made her come with his tongue.

He began to open the buttons on her shirt with impatient hands, his mouth moving back up to kiss her intently. Patsy arched into his touch, her lips parting under his, tongue darting out, moving against his like a playful invitation. He deepened the kiss while his hands continued to unbutton her, trying to take his time despite want cursing like electricity through his veins, lingering on every button, fingers stroking against the thin top she wore underneath. As the last button slid out of its hole, Patsy slightly pushed against his shoulders and he looked at her, both breathing heavily after the kiss.

“Too fast?”

“No! _No_ , not at all.” She bit her lip as she looked at him, eyes dark and her gaze hot on his face. ”Let’s… why don’t we move this to the couch.”

She didn’t even wait for his reply, just took his hand and pulled him with her further into her flat. In this moment, her flat seemed gigantic to him and he couldn’t wait, pulling her around at the end of the hallway, pressing her close and catching her surprised laugh in a kiss. Her fingers dug into his back as he pushed against her, both inching towards the living room.

“Fenris…” Her voice was breathless between kisses. “Watch out for the Cylon model at your elbow.”

He steered them away from the shelf at his right, only for their feet to stumble over an oddly shaped pillow on the floor, hard to navigate in the dim light of the room as the only light source was coming from the hallway.

“So sorry.” Patsy pressed a kiss to his jaw as an apology, her fingers busy trying to open his belt. “I didn’t really get around to cleaning my flat lately.”

“I don’t mind.”

For all he cared she could live in an actual dumpster, he had more pressing matters on his mind... and in his pants. Patsy turned them around again, probably a wise move that would keep them from tripping over something or him from breaking one of her many collectibles. With a smirk on her lips that made the blood rush to his groin she pushed him backwards until he hit the couch with the back of his legs and when he sat down, Patsy put her knees next to his legs, slowly sinking down onto his lap. Her hands stroked through his hair while she kissed a path along his jaw to his ear, breath hot against his skin. Fenris hummed in pleasure and let his head sink back against the couch, offering up his neck for her eager mouth.

His hands slowly stroked up from her knees, the intended goal her ass, but the path of his left hand was interrupted by the blaster that was still strapped to her leg. Patsy straightened up and grinned at him, pulling the blaster from the holster and pointed it at him.

“If you know what’s good for you, you will surrender, Darth Sexy, while I’m asking nicely.”

His lips started twitching at ‘Darth Sexy’ but he played along and quirked an eyebrow at her.

“What if I don’t?” Fenris lowered his voice to what he hoped was a seductive whisper. “What are you gonna do to me, Solo?”

Patsy quickly removed the holster and threw both it and the blaster behind her, leaning in closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest and her mouth was at his ear.

“Why don’t you find out?”

Maybe he shouldn’t find this as hot as he did, maybe under different circumstances he would just laugh at this entire situation. Right now, it was the hottest thing anyone had ever said to him and if she wanted to, she could call him a dirty little Jawa and he would just agree and ask her if she wanted to inspect his wares. Meanwhile, Patsy had rid herself of her blouse and was now teasingly pulling his belt off his pants. Fenris found himself unable to move his gaze from her face; the wicked smile playing around her lips, her flushed cheeks and her eyes, dark with lust. He’d never wanted anyone more.

When the belt joined her blaster on the floor, his hands gripped the curve of her hips and she ground down against him, making him groan and pull her in for a deep kiss, his teeth biting down on her lip in the way he’d found out she liked, holding nothing back anymore. He slid his hands under her top and stroked over her sides, feeling her shiver against him and answering by starting to push up his shirt. He lifted his arms so she could pull it over his head and then Patsy suddenly froze up, his shirt balled up in her fingers, staring at him with her mouth slightly open.

“Are you alright?”

Her eyes wandered over his torso, one hand reaching out to tentatively stroke along the lines of his tattoos. Then she looked up at him again and let out an embarrassed little laugh.

“Sorry, it’s just… even better than I imagined.”

Fenris laughed as well, taking his shirt from her and putting it aside and then took both her hands and put them on his chest. He’d have to remember to ask her some time in what context she’d been imagining him shirtless; for now, the possibility that he wasn’t the only one who’d envisioned this encounter under the shower was enough to spiral his arousal to new heights.

Patsy was becoming more forward in her exploration of his torso, hands purposefully gliding down his stomach, and he groaned in anticipation as her fingers grazed over the skin above his waistband. When they locked eyes again, it was as though someone flipped a switch and all thoughts in his mind were replaced with raw need.

Fenris sat up straight; one arm supporting Patsy’s back, holding her in place as his teeth closed around her collarbone and his hand moved to her breast. Patsy gasped, one hand grabbing his hair and pressing him closer, the other playing with the button of his jeans. He was painfully hard now and let out a shuddering breath against her skin as her hand moved inside his briefs and closed around his cock. For a moment, he could do nothing but close his eyes and press open mouthed kisses to her shoulder, overwhelmed by the relief rushing through him, only to be replaced by torturous pleasure when she began stroking him.

Determined to give back as good as he got, Fenris didn’t bother to take off her top, just pulled down the fabric and lifted her breast out of her bra, teasing his lips across her nipple before swirling his tongue around it. He hummed with approval as Patsy moaned and momentarily let go of his cock, instead tightening her grip on his hair. Before she could gather herself, he exposed her other breast as well and began plucking her nipple until it was hard against his fingers. When he grazed his teeth over her nipple and then gently bit down, she moaned again, _loud,_  and then grabbed his hand that wasn’t at her breast and moved it to the front of her pants.

Very happy to oblige, Fenris opened her pants, struggling a bit with the button as his fingers were slightly shaky from lust and the realisation that this was _actually happening_. Patsy was _here_ , on his lap, sighing into his ear while his tongue made a wet path between her breasts, her skin tasting slightly salty with sweat.

It was all real.

Her gasp as his finger glided into her. He could feel her heat and her wetness, her hips beginning to move as she threw back her head, drawing him deeper into her. Fenris was captivated - the smooth motions of her body, the soft moans escaping her, the desire in her eyes as she looked at him and grabbed his hand that was still kneading her breast, urging him to give her more, to go faster, harder.

Fenris held her gaze as he slipped another finger into her, a rumble deep in his chest as she tightened around him. Patsy continued grinding her hips, her breathing loud and fast between increasing moans and mewls. Fenris could watch her fuck herself on his fingers forever but more than that - he wanted to see her come.

He started pinching her nipple and rubbing her clit with his thumb, grunting his approval as Patsy’s fingers dug into his arm for support while she leaned even further back, pushing her cunt forward into his hand. Soon, her thighs began to tighten around his legs, her movements growing erratic and her moans louder. Fenris moved his fingers inside her faster, pushing in to meet her thrusts and leaned forward to suck on her nipple, making encouraging noises until he felt her clench around his fingers and her whole body tensed up as she came with a hoarse shout.

Patsy slumped forward against him, her arms resting against his chest and she was panting slightly. He put his arm around her, hand soothing up and down her back and for a moment they stayed like that. Fenris would remember this as well - her boneless in his arms, smelling of sweat and sex, his fingers still inside her.

After a while, she huffed a laugh and propped herself up on her arms to look at him, a smile on her face as she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Fenris slowly withdrew his fingers, lifted them up to his mouth and _sucked_. Patsy’s eyes went wide and she bit her lip, staring with a heated gaze as he leisurely tasted her. As soon as his fingers left his mouth, he felt Patsy’s tongue against his and he growled at the image of her tasting herself on his tongue.

“Fuck me.” Patsy whispered against his mouth, her hands sliding down his stomach again. “I need you to fuck me, _now_.”

Before he could answer that _yes, fuck, absolutely_ , she drew back and grinned.

“Condoms are in the Companion Cube.”

She moved from his lap and he got up as in a daze. _Condoms. Companion Cube. ...what?_

“Uh, what’s a Companion Cube?”

“Ooooh, sorry, the big grey cookie jar over there with the hearts in the middle!”

Fenris tried to navigate his way to the sideboard as quickly as possible without stumbling over things on the floor, opening the jar to find a surprisingly large collection of condoms and a bottle of lube. Or maybe it wasn’t surprising. He didn’t really know how often this jar was opened. He didn’t think she’d been seeing someone recently, but it’s not like they’d actually discussed that. Why hadn’t he ever bothered to ask? _Fenris, stop thinking about that and get back to the fact that she wants you to fuck her._ He turned around with a smirk to wave the lube at her, only to find that Patsy had already divested herself of most of her remaining clothes, currently shimmying her panties down her legs. Well… he gulped, _hard_.

“Oh no, don’t use the lube! It was a special edition and I thought it looked cool but it’s like neon green and smells really, _really_ weird.”

He dropped the lube as if it was about to explode, grabbed what he needed (or a bit more, he had… plans) and returned to the couch where Patsy stood, completely naked and her expression suddenly a little bit insecure. Fenris hastily slipped out of his shoes, pulled down his jeans and briefs in one swift motion, let her get a good look and then drew her close, one hand caressing the side of her face.

“You.” He pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Look.” Her jaw. “Incredibly.” Her neck. “Hot.” Another kiss to her mouth, this time deepening it until her hands were on his back, pulling them both down on the couch.

Before he knew it, he was lying on top of her, one of her legs hooked around his waist, his elbows resting next to her head and his cock _so close_ … He began making his way down her body with lips and tongue but he only made it to her breasts until Patsy grabbed his hair and dragged his head back up.

“Fuck. Me.”

“As you wish.”

Despite her impatience, he teased his fingertips around her clit and then slipped two fingers in her cunt, moving them in and out a few times, before lining up his cock and then - finally - entering her.

The sensation of being inside her overwhelmed him for a second and he stilled, pressing his face against her neck and feeling her nails dig into his back. This was… he’d been hard now for what felt like hours and he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to last long but he would still try to draw this out as long as he could, because _nothing_ would be able to compare to this. She was tight and hot around him, gripping him as he began moving inside her as if she didn’t want to let him go. And he didn’t want to.

He watched Patsy’s face as he began to thrust - trying and yet failing to set a slow pace - her eyes shut in pleasure, her mouth open, lips dark and swollen from their kisses. His lovebites moved with the skin on her neck as she strained her muscles, hands and legs drawing him even closer, those soft little noises he couldn’t get enough of reaching his ears again. Too much and not enough.

Soon, he was driving into her hard and fast, his grunts and moans drowning out hers, and he could feel deep, hot pleasure building up inside of him. He moved one hand down to her clit again, rubbing it and pounded into her until her body shook, clenching around him and all his world narrowed down to his cock in her cunt and Fenris came hard.

He laid on top of her for a while, feeling like he might actually pass out now that all the tension had left his body. But… he had _plans._  

He lifted his head and gave Patsy a lazy grin, which she returned while she stroked a few sweaty strands of hair from his forehead.

“Want to show me your bedroom?”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise and her lips twitched.

“To sleep? Or…”

“My lightsaber might need a little time to recharge but that won’t keep me from exploring this planet in all its glory.”

This might be the worst thing he’d ever said after having sex with someone but Patsy just started laughing, a sound he was maybe even fonder of than her little sighs of pleasure. It was a close call; he’d have to investigate this further.

“Oh, Darth Sexy, the Force truly is strong in you. Carry me away and show me the wicked ways of the Dark Side.”

And thus Darth Sexy carried Hanna Solo into the bedroom to explore every inch of her body and the Force was _throbbing_ and _hard_ that night.

 


	19. Fenris vs. A Close Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes to hell.

Fenris woke up and blearily blinked, feeling disoriented for a few moments. His mattress was somehow higher than he was used to and his blanket had deserted him during the night. He rubbed some sleep from his eyes, stretched and rolled over to his side and found himself face-to-face with a sleeping Patsy. Immediately, the events of last night came rushing back to him and his lips spread in a pleased smirk. _Mmmm._

They were both naked, the blanket crumpled up between them. Fenris didn’t want to be one of those people that watched others while they were sleeping, but…  Patsy looked peaceful, her mouth slightly open and her cheek smushed on her arm. He studied her face while he listened to her even breathing. The smudged black colour around her eyes, the only leftover of her Hanna Solo costume. The dusting of freckles over her nose, usually barely visible but brought alive by the first hints of sunlight peeking through the curtains. The little red marks he’d left on her neck in the cinema, joined by a few fresher ones further down her body. The curve of her lips, relaxed and somehow still looking as though she was smiling at him.

A line of saliva made it’s way down her cheek and Fenris chuckled as he gently wiped it away, careful not to wake her. She probably needed the rest after last night. Not that he was one to brag, but their sex had been _incredible_. It was a good thing it was a Sunday, so they could just stay in bed all day… He suddenly realised how rare this was for him, waking up next to the person he’d slept with. He couldn’t even recall the last time... He was more used to straight up leaving after they’d fucked. He wasn’t quite sure yet why it was different this time, he just knew that it _was_.

Not wanting to sour this morning with useless contemplations about the nature of whatever this was, he got up from the bed and tiptoed into the living room, on a suddenly very urgent quest to find the bathroom. Patsy’s living room was… _what the fuck, what is all this stuff?_ He hadn’t really gotten a good look around last night, being distracted by the hot sex they were having and all, so the scene that greeted him took him by surprise. He’d expected the pile of their clothes next to the couch and he dimly remembered there being a lot of strangely shaped things on shelves but there was just _so much_. Wherever he turned his head, he spotted some sort of figurines or models and things he couldn’t quite place but that he assumed fell under “nerdy collectibles” as well.

Fenris slowly made his way through what felt like the remains of a huge war that took place in Nerdonia, the floor a battlefield strewn with small laundry hills and discarded comic books with broken spines, the survivors having fled to every higher surface they could find, staring at him with hostile plastic eyes that followed him across the room. Well... That was... Something...

He finally found the bathroom and closed the door behind him with a relieved sigh. He couldn’t care less whether Patsy was a tidy person or not, but he’d never seen such an assortment of… his own flat was barely even _furnished_ , only a few movie posters adorning the walls and Merrill’s cactus the only things that could be considered “decoration” of any kind. It would probably only be a matter of time, before Patsy realised how… _Think of the awesome sex, Fenris. Don’t ruin it._

He moved towards the toilet, staring down at it while trying to quiet the persistent trickle of doubt and resignation in his mind and… the toilet stared back at him. There. Was. A. Face. On. The. Toilet.

He huffed out a little noise that definitely was not a scream and stumbled backwards in confusion, hit a cabinet with his back, his feet sliding on the carpet and he fell sideways, hands desperately grabbing for something to hold on to, finding something, namely the shower curtain, but before he could steady himself, something _ripped_ and the curtain came down, together with part of the rod it had been hanging from and together they crashed into Patsy’s bathtub, curtain and rod falling down on him, on his face and _FUCK fuck that fucking hurts_ and everything hurt and he was pretty sure there was blood streaming from his nose and _FUCK!_  


* * *

A loud scream filled with abject horror woke Patsy from her sleep and she bolted upright, head scanning the room in confusion. Fenris... _Fenris_ was here. Was _he_ the one screaming? Another scream and some alarming crashing sounds came from somewhere in her flat and she jumped out of bed, running into the living room and coming to a halt as she couldn’t see anything that looked like the scene of an accident. Maybe it had all been a dream, a very _satisfying_ , sexy dream. Or maybe he had woken up and left the flat in a rush, horrified by… she spotted hers _and_ Fenris’ clothes on the floor and grinned. Definitely _not_ a dream.

She picked up his t-shirt and put it on while she moved towards the bathroom. The only place he could be. She tentatively knocked at the door.

“Fenris?”

There was no answer and cold panic spread through her body. She knocked again, vehemently this time and then stormed into the bathroom.

_Oh no._

She’d killed him.

He was lying in her bathtub in a mess of shower curtain and metal, his legs dangling over the edge of the tub and there was _blood_ , blood streaming down his face, dripping on the shower curtain… Patsy’s breathing sped up, lungs burning, heart aching and she rushed to his lifeless form, shaking hands hovering over him.

“ _Fenris?_ ”

“Hnmmmggrrr.”

Oh, thank the fucking Maker and Andraste and Yoda and Isabela and whatever else was looking out for her. Fenris blinked at her, once, twice and then groaned and lifted a hand to his bloody nose and groaned again when he touched it.

“Are you alright? What happened? I’m so sorry, so, _so_ sorry! My flat is a mess, I don’t, I should have… can you get up?”

She handed him a towel that he pressed to his nose while she carefully disentangled him from the shower curtain. Then, with a lot of pulling and lifting and groaning, they somehow managed to get him out of the tub and she helped him sit down on her toilet. _Why. Why?_ This was THE OPPOSITE of how she’d imagined things would be when she’d have him naked in her bathroom. No horrified screaming, no _blood_ , no Fenris looking as though he was about to murder someone, probably her.

“How did this...? What...  are you? What happened?”

Patsy desperately scoured her bathroom cabinet for her first aid kit, which consisted of barely more than a few band-aids but she needed to do _something_.

“I’m fine. I just… slipped.” Fenris’ words were short-spoken and his voice rough. He hated her. Of course he did. Her bathroom had almost killed him. And now he had to sit on her horrible _Ltd. Edition Hanna Solo Frozen In Carbonite Toilet Seat Cover_ that he was eyeing between his legs with a deep frown. Why did she even have that? Who bought such things?

“It was on sale! The seat, I mean. I know it’s weird. Bobby gets totally freaked out by it every time. I should… get a new one.”

Fenris just stared at her and then winced as she wet another towel and squatted down to clean the blood from his face.

“I’m _fine_.” He moved his head back and then removed the towel from his nose, blood still trickling down from his right nostril.

“No, you’re _not_ fine! You’re bleeding! I’m so… let me drive you… I don’t have a car. I can ask someone with a car to drive us to the hospital! I will call us a cab! I’m so sorry, I…”

She rose again but was halted by his strong grip around her wrist.

“There’s no need, Patsy. I will just go home. Don’t worry about it.”

Fenris began stuffing toilet paper into his nostrils and avoided all eye contact with her, even as he got up and she put her arm around his waist to steady him as he swayed.

“You can’t just… at least stay here until the bleeding has stopped. I won’t even bother you… just, you can’t just go out like this.”

Her words came out shaky and desperate, sounding as though she was about the cry. Which she was _not_. Not yet anyway. _She_ wasn’t the one beaten bloody by an aggressive shower curtain in the flat of a compulsive hoarder.

Fenris staggered back into the living room, heading straight for his clothes and pulling on his boxers and pants and then sitting down on the couch to put on his shoes. He couldn’t just leave! Things had gone so well and now… she’d ruined _everything_ , as she always did and she could feel the tears welling up, the ones she didn’t want to cry until he was gone. Stupid, so stupid.

His shoes were on and he got up again, looking around until his eyes rested on her torso. _Oh_. She was wearing his shirt.

“Don’t worry about it. I can just… I don’t need it.”

Fenris awkwardly walked around her, still not looking her in the eyes and made his way towards the hallway. It was like someone was pressing a lightsaber slowly into her chest, careful to make it hurt and burn as much as possible. He really was just going to leave. Without a shirt, with blood on his chest, toilet paper in his nose. How much must he regret things that he didn’t care about anything as long as he got away from her?

Patsy sniffled and angrily rubbed her eyes before she took off his shirt and rushed after him to find that he had already one hand on the door handle.

“At least take your stupid shirt, Fenris. If you don’t want to wear it, you can always use it to stop the blood.”

She hadn’t meant to yell at him, but she was hurt and _naked_ and he’d probably never want to see her again anyway. He slowly turned around, grabbed his frickin shirt and then finally met her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

With that, he left.  


* * *

 

When the light began to creep through her windows Sunday morning, Bobby did what any normal, reasonable person would do and completely ignored it.  For three hours.

She wasn’t really asleep, not exactly, not unless ‘face down in pillow forever’ counted as sleeping and not just a very slow, very inefficient way to smother herself.  At this point she was sort of ambivalent on whether or not that was something that sounded appealing; she’d slept horribly, tossing and turning all night haunted by the phantom touch of lips and hands and the oppressive knowledge that she, as usual, was being a colossal fuckup.

Honestly, fuck 8 AM.  She would have been content to spend the next 700 hours in bed with her sleep mask down over her eyes and no contact with the outside world, except she continued to be just awake enough to make quiet dying dinosaur noises to herself and peek at the alarm clock beside her bed at regular intervals, as though she was counting down the end of the world.

Not that it was the end of the world.  Probably very unlikely, statistically speaking, but then what did she know about statistics.  She was starting to sound like -

_Ugh, Maker._ She flopped over to lie on her back, snatching her phone off the bedside table when her text message alert played, already irritable enough with life in general that she could more than likely withstand the annoyance of whomever it was that thought texting this early on a weekend was a good life choice.  Probably Aveline, hung over.  Or Patsy, bragging smuggly about-

**Patsy:** S.O.S. Home.

_Shit._ Bobby sat up so quickly her pillow went flying, sleep mask hanging halfway off her head, legs tangling in her stupid sheets as she almost tumbled into the floor.  Naturally she skidded on the bottom half of the wookie costume she hadn’t had the wherewithal to put away the night before and almost ended up face first into the wall.

An S.O.S. was no laughing matter, a code invoked only on rare occasions.  Like ‘shit is going down _right fucking now_ ’ occasions.  ‘We might have to kill a man and/or hide a body’ occasions.

Not that that had ever happened.

Oh god, where were her pants.

It was moments like these where she really hated not having a car.  Patsy’s flat was less than a mile away from hers, but she only managed to run half the way before she had to stop, clutching her side and wheezing.  

_Why, nature?!_ More like _why not enough exercise, Bobby._  

She walk-limp-jogged the rest of the way, pounding her hands against her sister’s front door before remembering that she’d actually brought keys and letting herself in.  Not that an unarmed pseudo-asthmatic kicking down your door was in any way intimidating probably, and she did almost immediately trip on a stack of empty Amazon boxes that hadn’t made it into the recycling, but as she stepped through the front hall she snatched up the first thing she saw - a replica of Gandalf the Grey’s staff - and hefted it in both hands as a weapon.

Only ‘hefted’ was sort of generous since apparently it was actually made out of some kind of plastic and not actual wood and really what use was that to anyone unless she happened to have to fight a burglar with a specific weakness against wiffle bats and Tolkien-esque magic.

_Paste, WHAT is your life?!_ She didn’t see her sister anywhere and the apartment was silent.  Bobby moved as slowly and quietly as if she was in a one-on-one stalk-off with Predator, Gandalf’s staff ready over one shoulder to descend with child-safety justice.

“Hey Patsy!  I’m here,” she tried out, getting no answer.  Well that was great.  “I’ve uh - I’ve got Isabela here with me.  Aveline just called and said she was on her way.”

That was a good idea, right?  Make it seem like other people were in the flat with her, that she wasn’t just one tiny furless wookie wielding the equivalent of an oversized pretzel.  She’d thought about it a lot, weird disaster plans born out of watching the Lifetime channel too late at night.  Television for Women, like hell.  More like nightmare fuel.

She checked the kitchen, poked her head into the bedroom, and still no Patsy.  No masked ninjas or extremely misinformed bounty hunters either, and she was about to let down her guard and call her sister’s phone when she heard a rustling sound and what could only be described as muffled snuffling from the bathroom.

Oh Maker’s hairy fucking tits, why was it always something in the bathroom.  Everyone knew you avoided bathrooms in horror movies, and once again she found herself wondering why exactly they didn’t just have a policy of texting Aveline for rescue when they were in trouble because _obviously_ her own capacity to improve the situation was _extremely_ limited.  Oh well, too late for that now.

She backed herself up against the wall and turned the door handle with the utmost slowness, trying not to make a sound.  When she felt the latch give, she flung it open with so much force it rebounded against the opposite wall and knocked the staff out of her hands entirely.  In too deep to be deterred now, she struck an entirely unconvincing karate pose - she’d never taken karate a day in her life _much to her eternal regret thank you Darth Mum -_ and yelled out something that in her head was close to an action movie battle cry but in practice was probably more along the lines of the kind of panicked screaming you do when there’s a pan in the kitchen in flames and you’ve forgotten how to put out a grease fire.

Her sister was sitting in the floor in her bathrobe, staring at her like she’d completely lost her mind.

“Patsy?!  Oh holy fucking shit!”

Relieved and suddenly incredibly weak in the knees, Bobby sank down into the floor, heart fit to explode out of her chest like a face-hugging alien.  “I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD.”

“I wish I was dead!” Patsy wailed, burying her face in her hands.  “I fucked up sis, I fucked up so bad.”

“What?  What did you- What is- Holy shit Patsy, is that blood?   _Oh my god, is this blood?”_ It was on her jeans, smeared on the palm of one hand. _“Why is there blood on me whose blood is this OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT IN YOUR TUB?!”_

Most of Patsy’s shower curtain - what wasn’t hanging sadly on the two hooks left dangling on half the rod - was bundled up into an amorphous lump in the bathtub looking like a prop from the movie _Psycho,_ and there was only one logical explanation.  Patsy’s evening with Darth Sexy had gone horribly awry and her sister had actually killed a man.

“Holy shit.  Holy shit.   _Holy shit-_ no that’s okay Patsy, that’s okay!” she hurried to reassure as her sister started to cry in earnest into her sleeve.  “That is O-K.  No cause for alarm.  No need to panic.  We’re just gonna need uh… a really big bucket, a hacksaw, and a couple of bags of lime.  Or was it lye.   _Shit._ We need to rent Breaking Bad.  And probably steal a car.  And move to Antiva.”

“I have them a-haaalll o-hon DVD.” Patsy sobbed, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dragon bathrobe. “So we wouldn’t have to rent… He’s not _dead_ , Bobby!”

She almost laughed - she really almost did.  It was so close, bubbling up in her chest like - bubbles, or some kind of nauseous heartburn - but it didn’t really seem like the moment for a hysterical fit of giggles and so she tamped it down as hard as she could.  “Well that’s a fucking relief, though that doesn’t tell me what the hell happened.  Is this blood, or the worst red corn syrup accident to happen since that time when we were thirteen?”

“It’s blood. Fenris’ blood. He…”

More tears spilled from Patsy’s eyes and she looked like a huge pitiful bundle of despair, yesterday’s eyeliner mixing with the tears on her face, a streak of blood on her cheek, a little bit of snot running from her nose. Now that it was clear she didn’t have to leave the country, her Take Care of the Baby-Twin instincts settled in with full force. Bobby put her arm around Patsy’s shoulder, used the already dirty bathrobe sleeve to wipe her face again, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s fine, I’m here now. Just tell me what happened. It’s fine, your Blobster will take care of it.”

“It was… everything was so _good_ , you know? And then… my shower killed him! Just, he was naked in my tub and there was blood and then he was mad and he left! He just left me, all naked and there was still blood streaming from his nose and…”

Patsy’s voice faltered and then there was nothing left but gross sobbing and desperate wookie noises.  


* * *

 

There was something about making tea that always felt soothing, even in Patsy’s nerd-mess of a kitchen.  Bobby wasn’t even really sure why, maybe just that drinking tea sounded so healthful and mature, like meditation and yoga and all those other things that she did absolutely none of.  She was pretty sure, though, that they were meant to be drinking tea that sounded more like it was made out of an actual plant rather than blends like TARDIS Blue and Smaug’s Treasure, but Patsy liked what Patsy liked, and if it had some kind of geekdom tag attached to it, she liked it a whole lot.

Patsy was sprawled out on the couch with one arm flung over her eyes and a wet washcloth on her forehead, recovering from the tail end of her crying jag, which had fortunately diminished to just the sniffles.  Bobby couldn’t help but gently shake her head, pouring hot water from the kettle into the porcelain R2-D2 teapot Patsy had purchased from god knows where, and forgetting to be chagrinned at what it brought to mind until she was rummaging around in the cabinet looking for cups.

Still, she supposed that when compared to ‘and then he broke his face in my bathroom because my Hanna Solo toilet seat frightened him when he had to pee’, her dilemma was actually very small and not important.  Someone really ought to go and check on Fenris anyway to make sure he hadn’t given himself a concussion.  She’d have to text Merrill later, after she got some tea and some food into Patsy and cleaned up the bathroom, and really this was perfect because it gave her an excuse not to think about anything kissy or kiss-related ever again, for as long as she could drag this out.

“You wanna sit up, sis?”  She said, bringing two empty mugs and the teapot to the coffee table on a tray bearing, inexplicably, a Wonder Woman fight montage.  

“Uhm,” Patsy said when she made to sit down on the couch near her feet.

Bobby narrowed her eyes suspiciously.  “What.”

“You may not want to sit on that.”

“On the pillow?”

“On the-” Patsy gestured widely, but vaguely.  “That whole thing.  Area.  Thing.  Yes.”

Bobby hovered with her ass five inches off the couch cushion for a moment and then slowly decided to stand, wiping her hands on her jeans even though they were clean.  Well, she was reasonably certain they were clean, anyway.  As Isabela had proven time and again, one could never be too sure with invisible sex cooties because they polluted everything and Maker, she was never going to be clean again.

Even upset and puffy eyed, her sister still looked smug.

“Is the floor safe?”

“What?”

“The floor.  Is it safe.”

“I mean, probably.”

“Maybe I’ll just stand forever.  That sounds reasonable.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. We only fucked on the couch and the bed, everything else is fine.”

Bobby gave her a withering look and then brought over one of the kitchen chairs, sitting down opposite Patsy and lifting a brow.  “So you _did_ get it on then! Thank you for waiting until you got home, though I don’t even want to know how far you got in the cinema.”

“Hey! Rude! I mean, pretty close, hehehe…”

Bobby sighed and poured the tea. Her twin was astounding, from Paste-o-saurus to Smugzilla in less than 5 seconds. But it was fine, everything was fine, as long as it kept her twin talking and stopped her from sobbing and Bobby from thinking about… those things. About strong arms and urgent lips and…

“Sooo? Tell me more about what happened on the couch!”

She couldn’t believe she was this desperate, willing to sit through all the gross, gory details that she _really_ didn’t need to hear. Whatever it took! Patsy sensed something was up though, and eyed her suspiciously.

“What do you want to know? _All_ the details?”

“Yes, naturally!”

“How we sat here, on the couch, I was on his lap and came on his fingers without even being undressed?”

Mistakes.  Mistakes had been made.  “That sounds… wonderful!  I’m so... happy for you!”

Patsy’s narrow-eyed stare lasted a moment longer, and then she shrugged and leaned back on the couch with a happy sigh.

“So, he fingered me and then we had sex, right here!”  Patsy patted the couch with disturbing fondness, and Bobby snorted into her mug of tea.  

“Couldn’t make it to the bed, I am _not_ surprised.”

“Well, not immediately…”

Smug level over 9000, though she’d take Smug!Patsy over Sad!Patsy any time. But how things had gone from awesome sexcapades all over the flat to bathroom bloodbath in such a short time… only Pastey.

Or maybe all this bad relationship stuff… maybe it was a family thing.

Right, not thinking about that right now.  Possibly never thinking about that again.

“The sex was the best I’d ever had, probably, definitely and now… we’ll never fuck again!”

And they were back to sad wookie noises. Bobby sighed. Clearly this required a harder-core de-pastening.  She got a blanket from a cupboard and threw it over the couch so she could sit down next to Patsy without having to worry about what had gone down there the night before.

_(Or who… eh heh heh.  Oh my god, gross.)_

She tugged at Patsy’s shoulder until her sister tipped over and rested her head in her lap. Bobby gently stroked a few rumpled locks from her face, and softly ran her fingers through her sister’s hair.  “Don’t worry about that, Paste. Fenris is super into you! I’m pretty sure he’ll… you know… that you’ll get it on again.”

“I broke his face!”

“That was your shower, technically speaking. So really it was an accident. Accidents happen!  Why don’t you just call hi-”

Dying wookie noises interrupted her.

“Fine, shit. Write him a text message. Ask him whether he’s stopped bleeding and uh, maybe remind him of the good times you had on the couch.”

“What if he doesn’t answer? What if he never speaks to me again? I’m such a terrible fuckup, who even has so many nerdy things? WHY DO I HAVE A NERDY TOILET? Mum is right, my flat is just a horrible reflection of how I-”

“Oh _hell_ no, I’m gonna stop you right there. Patsy, when was the last time you said ‘Mum is right’? Like in 5th grade?  Don’t even start with that now.”

“But-”

Bobby frowned, brows drawing together as she looked sternly down at her sister.  “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you put yourself down.  You’re better than that and you’re smarter than that, and you don’t get to pretend that you’re not.”

Patsy stopped and looked back up at her, their frowns so similar that eventually Bobby looked away, sipping her cooling tea.

“Super intense, sis.”

“Yeah, well.  Nobody fucks with my kid sister.  Not even my idiotic kid sister.”

“Noted,” Patsy said, just a hint of sarcasm in her tone that Bobby elected to ignore, letting her burrow back down into the cushions.  There was silence for a long moment until she thrashed over to look at her sister again, her bouncing risking tea being dumped right in her face.  “Did something happen last night?”

Shit.  Play it cool, Bobby.  “I’d say a lot happened last night.  I mean, your bathroom alone-”

“That is so _not_ what I meant,” Patsy interrupted, as though she sensed deflection.  Which she probably did.  Crap.

“Nothing happened,” she said, and found herself awkwardly smoothing the non-existent wrinkles out of her jeans.  “Nothing important, anyway.”

“Oh I am so not buying that.  Did something happen?  Something juicy? Something with the sexy noodle?”  

Patsy looked way too interested, way too knowing.  Had Aveline not been as drunk as she’d assumed?  Had she seen them?  Had she _told?_

“Patricia Hawke, sometimes you should just mind your own damn business.”

“And sometimes _you_ sound scary similar to Mum.”

Bobby squeezed her eyes shut, and then put her empty cup down so she could rub her forehead.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to- I’m not- I don’t really know what to say.”

“Just tell me straight, do I need to kill a man?  Because you say the word-” Patsy drew her thumb across her throat.  “He’s so done.”

Bobby just looked skeptical.  “Pats, we couldn’t even deal with a theoretical dead body like twenty minutes ago and let me point out, _it was theoretical_.  Why in the world would you even… you know what, never mind.  No, I don’t need you to kill anyone, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Pastey.  But thanks.  We just…”

Patsy was looking at her expectantly, having apparently figured out at some point that just staring at her sister and letting her ramble was an even better method of extracting secrets than begging, nagging, and tickle torture.  Which was fucking devious and just mean spirited to be honest, but she guessed she did want to tell someone, and who better than her twin sister.

Particularly her twin sister whom, after this morning, she would have dirt on _forever._

“We kissed.”  Patsy slapped both hands over her mouth, already stifling a weird kind of squeal when her sister glared at her.  “Don’t.  Say.   _Anything.”_

“I’m not.  I would never.  TELL ME MORE.  I mean, you know,” Patsy coughed and sat up, gathering her robe around herself.  “If you wanna.”

Bobby shrugged, wishing for more tea and for something large to hide behind.  She settled for pulling her legs up crosslegged on the couch and staring down at her hands.  “I mean there isn’t much else to tell.  He kissed me.  We kissed.  He um.  Mmph.  He wants to… date me I guess?”  The look she shot Patsy was both rueful and puzzled.  “Whatever that means.”

Patsy just stared at her.  Not the leading stare of _tell me more_ but the _are you fucking serious right now_ stare that could bore holes into the moon.  “Don’t start that shit, you know exactly what that means.  You are the Kirkmall dating champion!”

“Not funny.”

“Well what’s wrong with him?  He’s nerdy.  He’s kinda cute.  He’s… tall.  Nerdy.  Did I say nerdy?”

Bobby rolled her eyes.  “You can say it.  He has a nice body.”

“HE HAS A NICE BODY, I mean come on sister, what’s wrong with him?  He’s totally nice!  Oh.”  Patsy’s eyes narrowed suddenly, knowingly, making her sister look away, suddenly very engrossed in the… whatever those were on the bookshelves, yes, very exciting.  “It’s because you think he’s too ‘ _nice’.”_

“I mean-”  Patsy reached over and slapped her arm.  “Ow!  What the shit?”

“Bobby, if you only go out with people you’re not really interested in, how are you supposed to ever have a real relationship?”

“Look who sounds like Mum now.”

They both stopped, sulking momentarily in their corners.

Eventually Bobby gave in and rubbed her arm.  “Okay obviously neither one of us knows what we’re doing.”

“Well obviously we need some kind of plan.”

“Obviously.”

When nothing was immediately forthcoming, Patsy leaned over and put her head on her sister’s shoulder, the way she always did when she was making nice and she thought she was in trouble.  “I swear I won’t ask anything else, but you gotta tell me one thing.”

Bobby arched a brow.

“Do you want to kiss him again?”

The quick rush of blood to her cheeks was the only answer Patsy was going to get - and the only one she needed.

 

* * *

 

 


	20. Bobby vs. The Freezer of Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes partially resolve their issues - as awkwardly as possible.

“This is a good look for you, cookie.”  Jethann was lounging against the back counter, watching her straighten her dress and hair in the mirror suction-cupped to the wall.  “Very femme fatale meets determined girl hero.”  

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him over her lip gloss.  “I can’t tell if this is encouragement, or if you’re making fun of me.”

“You’re like a YA-novel wet dream.”  His grin was wide and warm and two-thirds salacious.  “Take that however you will.”

She rolled her eyes, but only a little, pressing her lips together thoughtfully.  “Think this is going to work?”

“Bobby, the guy is obviously smitten.  I have the snickerdoodle receipts to prove it.”

God.  Just another item on a long list of things she’d totally failed to notice, like a clueless bumbling moron.  Boblivious to the max.

“Well, I still have to get Fenris on board with this, so I wouldn’t get too excited just yet.”

“Oh, right.  What’s the plan for that?”

“How dare you imply that I plan things, what do I look like - a responsible adult?”  Bobby tried out a smile.  It looked terrible.  She let it drop.  “I’m just gonna… I don’t know, go in there, hit him with some cookies, and ask him to help.  Nicely.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Something super dignified, like throw myself on the floor and refuse to let go of his leg until he says yes.”

“Well, you’ve had worse plans.”

Even with the force of Jethann’s _glowing_ encouragement playing through her mind (granted, in sarcastic overtones), her hands were sweating around the plate of cookies.  She’d made them at home, just for this, and thankfully she’d saran-wrapped them within an inch of their delicious chocolatey life or her jitters would have had them vibrating out onto the floor.

After a long talk with her sister on Sunday - and an even longer scrubbing of Patsy’s bathroom, which was already pretty dirty underneath the _actual spilled blood_ all over the floor and shower - she’d come to work on Monday prepared to shrug it off.  To take a deep breath, put on a smile, and face her problems like an actual grown-up person capable of maintaining successful relationships.

Only that had pretty much immediately gone to shit and she’d spent the day slinking around the shop, hiding from anything that even remotely resembled a suit.  Given that Diamond Quarter Jewels was just down the way the whole thing had been sort of fraught, and the third time she ended up crouched behind the register spying on the mall crowd like some kind of shitty cookie-store James Bond, Jethann got the whole story out of her.  Every scandalous detail.

The words _‘no cookie, we can’t burn down the mall because you think you might like a guy’_ had been uttered.  There might have been high pitched and panicked screaming.

Maker, this was the worst idea ever.  She definitely felt like _dead girl walking_ , totally out of place in her sandals and dress.  Not that this wasn’t how she always dressed, but it felt like a blinking neon sign above her head that read ‘Red Alert: Bobby Hawke is at the mall on her free time and she’s totally up to something.’

Which was true of course, but that was just rude.

She was pretty sure Patsy hadn’t ventured out of L3V3L UP either, probably hiding behind the counter stress-eating cereal out of the box and burying her whale noises beneath the sounds of internet gunfire.  Entirely reasonable for someone who’d just assaulted a man with a toilet seat.

Oh god, this was such a terrible idea.

The Brewmother, despite having loads of empty tables and smelling pleasantly of freshly ground Par Vollen beans, was never really the kind of place to get crowded.  There were a few people here and there chatting quietly to themselves, and in the back corner someone buried in his laptop wearing padded headphones as big as saucers.  

Good.  Only a few witnesses.

She had a whole speech planned out and everything, words carefully rehearsed in her mind, but the second she got a glimpse of Fenris’ face and the big purple shiner swelling his right eye she forgot everything she was going to say, slammed her plate of cookies down on the counter and practically screeched, _“I really need you to go on a double date with me!”_

Fenris stared at her like she was a nuclear bomb he’d accidentally stumbled upon in his basement, suspicion mixed with horror mixed with no comprehension whatsoever.  “What?”

“You.  Me.  Double date.  With people.  I need.”

“Bobby, calm down.”

“I am calm!”  The plate of cookies was rattling ominously, death gripped by wildly shaking hands.  It was clattering against the counter in a real-time reflection of how close she was to going into full body convulsions right there in the middle of the cafe.

Yep, people were definitely staring.  This was going awesomely.  The doors chimed, admitting a group of heretofore innocent and unknowing customers, and she looked at Fenris desperately, wookie noises building up in the back of her throat in preparation of being released into the air like a klaxon that would probably break all of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She saw his eyes dart from the cookie platter to his incoming customers to her face, as though he could sense the oncoming typhoon of awkward emotion and helpless angst.  Fenris held up a finger and she paused, idling on _whimpering puppy_ (one flail level below _pod of whales_ ) as he took the cookie plate away from her and put it on a shelf.  He came back and took her arm, steering her around the counter with the register and toward the back where he shut her, with no explanation, in the freezer.

She had no idea how long she was in there - long enough to bring the urge to scream down from ‘the Reapers are invading’ to ‘oh no, there’s a spider in the tub’ - though her anxiety level shot right back through the roof when she heard the handle on the door rattle, and clutched an extremely cold bag of unground beans to her chest like a lumpy teddy bear for comfort.

Fenris came in looking harried and pained, though who could really blame him - his face looked like it hurt.  Hanna Solo toilet seat strikes again.  If nothing else maybe this would finally convince Patsy to get rid of the stupid thing and she would once again be able pee at her sister’s place in peace without feeling someone was watching.

“Fenris-”

He held up a hand and slumped heavily against the metal shelving, grabbing what looked to be an unopened package of deli-sliced ham and pressing the plastic to his face.

Out of nowhere she wanted to laugh, but it was a desperate, hysterical sort of laugh and she hugged the bag of beans tighter to her chest, trying to crush the urge away.  “Let me just start out by saying, I am so, so sorry about your face.  I mean, your eye.  I mean, it looks very manly.  The bruise.”  She was sweating.  “You’re a very nice person?”

“There is no need to flatter me, Bobby.”  

“Would I do that?”

He paused, as though debating with himself whether or not he really cared enough to inquire.  “What is this even about?”

Oh GOD, of course he would ask.  Which she guessed he had every right to, since he was in danger of being sucked up into her cyclone of fail.  “That guy, from the other night.  Cullen.  I guess he likes me.”

One eyebrow rose at a glacial rate.  “And you like him back?”

“Ugh, I guess?  I guess so?  I don’t know, it’s awful and shallow because we were just friends - or I _thought_ we were just friends - but then I realized that I’m kind of attracted to him and now I can’t unsee it.”

“You could just sleep with him.”

“Right?   _Thank you._   That was my first thought too, but he’s a really good guy and he actually likes me.  I mean who even _likes_ people anymore, what does that even mean?”  

God, this was going just about as well as she thought it would.  Maybe it was time to execute plan B and just throw herself on the ground and save them both the trouble of pretending she was a grown human being who was capable of managing her own life.  

“Look, I just really really need your help okay?  I’m a fuckup and I don’t know what I’m doing and honestly this is the best idea I have and it’s terrible but I don’t want to go by myself and I want everything to be okay AND I JUST REALLY REALLY NEED YOU TO DO ME THIS FAVOR PLEASE I WILL BRING YOU SO MANY COOKIES.”

If her words were bullets and her voice a gun she would have just unloaded her entire magazine on full auto.  His expression reflected that, flinching away like he wanted something to hide behind that would shield him from the flailing.  “That is not- necessary.  Bobby…”  He sighed and turned the package of ham over, seeking a colder spot to rest against his face.  “If you like the guy, why don’t you just go out with him?”

Why did he have to make so much sense?  In fact, how dare he.  Couldn’t he see how grossly incapable she was of handling adult interaction?

“Because I’m a fucking terrible person Fenris, and I don’t know how to date people that I actually like.”  That clearly made no sense to him whatsoever.  She could feel herself start to get shrill, voice shaking frantically with emotion - or maybe just because it was cold as balls in this shitty freezer.  “He’s so nice and I was so- how the hell am I supposed to make up for being so shitty and oblivious and… weird.  Maker!”  She stopped and pressed the cold bag of beans against her forehead.  “He probably doesn’t even like me anymore, what the fuck am I even doing.”

“Having a meltdown in my freezer.”  She dropped the bag and stared at him, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “Bobby, if you like someone you just like them.  Stupid… _stuff…_ it doesn’t matter.”

“Even breaking your face on someone’s toilet seat? _”_

“Look, that is _not-_ That is something completely different.  A completely different situation.  A completely different _accidental_ situation.”  His brows tried to draw together in a classic Fenris frown and he winced, replacing the ham.  “I have no issues about this whatsoever, it doesn’t merit discussion.”

“So you’re fine.”

“Yes.”

“You talked it out.”

“...No.”

Bobby stamped her foot like a twelve year old. “Dammit, Fenris!”

“What?!”

“I bet you didn’t even return her texts.”

“I… might… maybe…”

“You can’t just bleed all over a girl’s apartment and not return her texts!  I mean, do you even know how many sex cooties I had to dodge while I was trying to clean up?!  Where's the follow-through?"

“I didn’t know what to say!” he finally blurted out, empty hand slapping against his thigh.  Which must also have been bruised, because he winced.  “I mean, what do you… say?!”

“Oh I don’t know, ‘I’m not dead’ would have been a start.”

He couldn’t argue with that.  “In retrospect, I may have handled the situation poorly.”

“You think?!  She thinks you don’t like her anymore.”

Fenris scoffed - an expression he could still pull off despite the pain, apparently.  “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I still like her.”

“Well do you think _she_ knows that?  Given the amount of unauthorized _pew pewing_ in the car the other night, that’s a hell of a come-down if not.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, looking down when he found it too difficult to maintain a glare.  “I will concede your point.  Though why this is suddenly about _me,_ I can’t say.  You were the one who came in screeching about the stupid bank noodle.”

“God, don’t call him that.”

“Call him what?”

“Noodle,” she said, gesturing fruitlessly.  “It seems… mean.  You can have the screeching though, that part is probably true.  Probably certainly true.”

“Just go and ask him out, Bobby.”

“What if he says no?”

Fenris sighed deeply and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling.  “Then you know he’s not worthy of your time.  But he’s not going to say no.”

“Does that mean you’ll go?  On this stupid double-date thing?”  She couldn’t keep the hopefulness out of her eyes and her voice, clutching both extremely cold hands together under her chin.  “Please, please, pretty please?”

“I… suppose.”

“Maker, _thank you._  Thank you, thank you, thank you!”  He probably didn’t want a hug but he got one anyway.  At least she was careful not to headbutt him in the face, squeezing him until he awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“Just go ask.  If it doesn’t work out, you can come back and hide in the freezer.”

* * *

 

If he waited too long, he was going to lose his nerve.  Seeing as he’d already lost most of his dignity, it wasn’t something he could afford to sacrifice.

Fortunately, it was only a few minutes until Merrill was due to come in so that he could take a lunch.  She’d shown up to his place on Sunday armed with frozen vegan pizza and a handful of ice packs, so at least there was no having to awkwardly explain what had happened - yet again - but he still had to wave off her wincing sympathy at how his bruise had purpled.

He wasn’t terribly fond of making up stories - out loud, anyhow - but if this persisted he was going to have to come up with something.  The truth was just simply too embarrassing.  Just like his behavior, which he couldn’t ignore now that Bobby Hawke had shined an awkward spotlight all over it.

Maker, he’d just left Patsy there, naked in her apartment with his blood all over, what an obtuse, ham-handed -

He sucked in a deep breath at the turn of phrase.  No matter.  He would just fix it.  Like people did.  With things.  That were broken.  Broken things.  Absolutely.

Bobby was awkwardly hovering behind a cardboard cutout of Legolas from one of the Lord of the Rings movies when he started to cross the hallway.  Patsy was nowhere in sight, so he frowned, mouthing _Well?_ at her when she pretended to lean on something nonchalantly and almost knocked over a rack of books.

_I’m going_ , she mouthed back, shoving a paperback back into its spot.

_Well, go!_

_Fine!_

She huffed off, hands balled up in the skirt of her dress, walking very slowly and seriously toward the far end of the mall as though she was going to her execution even despite his mediocre pep-talk.  He withheld the urge to roll his eyes with some effort as it caused part of his face to hurt, shaking his head and refusing to draw any parallels between their current situations.

L3V3L UP was loud and annoying as usual, a cluster of young men crowded around the big screen playing one of those obnoxious sports games that he did not entirely get the point of.  Surely if one wanted to play football, one would just… play football, but apparently not.

Patsy was sitting behind the counter with her sketchbook and a messy jumble of pens, shoving what looked like marshmallows into her mouth from an open bag.  He stood there and looked at her for a moment, watching her indecisively cap and uncap one color or another, draw a line here or there, frequently deciding she hated her mostly blank page and ripping it out, balling it up and throwing it toward the trash.  Mostly she missed - there were tiny balls of paper everywhere.

He cleared his throat quietly, hands in his pockets, and then again less quietly when she didn’t seem to notice, rewarded with a deer-in-the-headlights stare when she finally did see him standing there.  Her sister had been right - she must have been in a bad way because, untrue to form, she didn’t try to shove the entire bag of marshmallows into her mouth but picked it up and threw it over one shoulder without looking, scattering soft white sweets all over the display shelves behind her.

Of course there may not have been room for any more in her mouth, her cheeks were bulged out adorably, like a chipmunk.  Fenris knew better than to address it, or even be surprised.

“I think there is something wrong with your sister,” he started, picking the most neutral path available.  If implying that Bobby was somehow addled was neutral.

By this time Patsy had managed to swallow, wiping the back of her hand across her lips.  It brought his attention to her mouth, which in turn brought back several pleasant memories (and one not so pleasant reminder), though when she blushed he felt himself start to smile, glad to still be able to have that effect on her.  He coveted her reactions, her unabashed enjoyment, and it was all too tempting to recall every subtle victory he’d earned that night before everything - well.  Before everything.

“There’s always something wrong with Blobby,” she’d said, sort of to fill the air, and he lifted his shoulders into a shrug, tending to agree.

“She tells me we’re going on a double-date on Saturday, with her and _that guy.”_ Ugh, if Bobby was going to take that walking starched collar off the market - and far away from Patsy, where he belonged - he might actually have to remember to occasionally use his name.  “That Cullen guy.”

“She told you?”

“I would say it was more of a yell, but… yes.  She told me.”

Patsy was chewing on her lower lip in a way that was inimically distracting.  It had a gravity all its own and he found himself pulled toward the counter, leaning against it with the unbruised elbow.  She looked well, even if she would hardly meet his eyes, staring across the room at the football game that he knew perfectly well she had no interest in.

“So… you’re cool with that?”

Why that seemed like such a loaded question, he didn’t know.  Maybe because it was.  Honestly he should just come out and _say things_ , take his own hypocritical advice and just be straightforward, but that was… surprisingly difficult to do when he felt invested in the outcome.

“If you are.”

“Well, I mean… yeah.  Of course.”  Obviously there was more she wanted to say - and more that probably ought to be said - but neither of them seemed willing to dip a toe into those rough waters.  Patsy made a face and pushed a hand through her hair as he shuffled his feet, covering over the unintentionally long moment of eye-contact.  “I mean, anything to help Blobster get over herself.”

“Right? So painful.”  If Bobby ever heard him talking about her like that, she would probably beat him to death with a tray of cookies.  At least what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  “So… you wanna go watch her talk to that guy?”

“Maker, yes.”

* * *

 

Zevran’s eyebrows nearly shot through the ceiling when he saw her come in, quietly pushing through the glass double-doors and into the lobby of the bank.

Crap, she should have made more cookies.  She was feeling incredibly alone, incredibly conspicuous, trying not to scuff the toes of her shoes into the floor or fidget, desperate for a prop or a loud explosion or a pulled fire-alarm.  Bobby was about to chew through her lip when he leaned over and elbowed Cullen, who was on the phone with his back to the room.

He jumped when he saw her, hand immediately going to his throat and the knot of his tie, looking from Zevran to her and back, mouth falling open as though he wasn’t sure what to say.  Zev, smooth as always, merely gestured for him to give up the phone, propping it between ear and shoulder and himself against the back counter, watching with interest and an undisguised wink.

Oh god, this was going to go terribly.

“Bobby,” he said, crossing toward her.  Cullen looked as clean-cut and well-pressed as ever, gray on gray on gray as usual in his suit, and - maybe she looked at him for a little too long, gaze lingering on his collar and his buttons and his impeccably shiny shoes.  By the time her eyes made it back up to his face that faint little line had appeared in his brow and he was pulling at his tie again.  “Is everything-”

“Can I talk to you?” she blurted, nails digging anxiously into the palms of her hands.  “Outside, maybe?”

He followed her out without question, holding the door and walking briskly beside her as she headed for the nearby exit.  It was sunny out at least, but slightly windy and a little bit cool; maybe a little too cool already for this dress.  She wasn’t sure if she was still a little frostbitten from Fenris’ freezer or just wracked with horrible nerves, but she immediately started to shiver, folding her arms around her waist.

They just stared at each other for the longest time, a crowd of small children and their already-tired-looking grandparents milling around them on their way inside.  It seemed like they were standing a bit… close.  At arm’s length; not inappropriately (as if) or even intimately close, but she fought the urge to take a step back, certain that if she let herself retreat an inch they would find her three days from now hiding beneath a park bench.

Why did this have to be so hard?!

“If you’re cold, we can go back inside,” he said, gesturing a bit desperately, but she shook her head.

“No, this is fine.”  

_And?!  Come on, you loser, get it together._

Great, now she had Fenris’ voice in her head, just what she needed.  More commentary from the metaphysical peanut gallery.

“It’s good to see you,” Cullen started again, slowly, his voice a little softer now that they were alone.  “I wasn’t sure if- I wasn’t sure when I would be seeing you again.”

It was a punch straight in the chest, the little note of uncertainty in his voice.  He was trying _so_ hard, and here she was, leaving him hanging once again.  God, she was the absolute worst.  But the words just wouldn’t come out, lodged in her throat like a lump of cookie dough until she couldn’t seem to do more than just sort of stare at him helplessly like she’d lost all powers of speech.

Eventually he looked away, angling out to stare into the parking lot before squaring his shoulders and turning back.  

“Look, Bobby.  If I’ve crossed a line with you - I mean, I get it, and I _will_ back off like I said I would, but I just-” he shrugged, eyes steadily on her face, voice so genuine it lanced straight through her heart.  “I just like you.  I like being with you, and if all we’re ever going to be is friends then I accept that, but I have to know-”

“Will you go out with me?”

“I’m sorry- What?”

“On a date.  Will you go out with me.  And Patsy and Fenris.  Saturday.  On a thing.  A date.”

Oh good, there, now she’d shocked him.  And probably made the idea sound completely repulsive.  Who _wouldn’t_ want to sit around listening to her sister’s dick jokes, with Fenris glaring holes into the side of people’s heads?  That sounded like a _great_ time.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Bobby laughed.  She didn’t mean to, but what a horrible fucking question.  As if she could possibly be relied upon to know what she wanted, how was that even a thing?  Especially when tripping and falling face first into everything was turning out so well.

His expression was sort of frozen, like maybe he thought she was laughing at him instead of herself, and on impulse she reached out to grab his arm before he could realize that this Hawke girl just wasn’t worth the trouble and walk away.  Probably a mistake on her part because then they really _were_ standing close, and it was hard to forget about how attractive you found someone’s broad shoulders when you were about eye-level with them.

Maker.  She smoothed out the crease she’d put in his sleeve and made herself drop her hand.  “Cullen- I’m horrible at this.  I mean, obviously.  I’m pretty sure _Fenris_ is better at this than I am, and I’m still not entirely convinced he likes humans.  The thing is… The thing is, you’ve always been really nice to me.”  She could feel herself blushing, ears burning, but she made herself say it anyway.  “And I like the way you kiss me, and I- I think I'd like to see where that goes."

He had the slowest smile, soft and sweet, like the leading edge of a laugh that never quite made it past the lips.  “So, me being ‘nice’.  You’re not going to hold it against me?”

He was _flirting,_ Maker.  “I haven’t quite made up my mind about that.”

“Ah,” he said, entirely unbothered.  Cullen stepped in a little closer, slowly lifting a hand to catch her chin.  “Better stick with what I know works, then.”

He kissed her lips just at the corner of her mouth, careful and slow and chaste and considerate, and it still lit her up like a tree at Wintersend.

“Bobby Hawke, I would love to go on a date with you-”

“-and Patsy and Fenris.”

“-and Patsy and Fenris- on Saturday.”

“Okay,” she said, a flock of little butterfly wings dancing in her stomach.  “It’s a date.”

* * *

 

 


	21. Fenris vs. The Crossroads of Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating is hard.

Once upon a time, Countess Dulmantia the Third dropped a fork at a diplomatic gathering.  This simple action - accompanied by a bunch of drunk translators who were really bad at their jobs - turned a friendly dinner into what was now commonly referred to as The Banquet of Twenty Decapitations.

History was full of difficult decisions and their consequences. And the consequences of those consequences. Even the most innocuous thing could set events in motion that brought forth destruction and chaos. Your intentions might be good, but time is cruel and the soldier exhaling his last breath while cradling the dead body of his comrade is not consoled by the fact that his King had only everyone’s best interests in mind when he reassured his Queen that if their new puppy would pee on the carpet again, he would simply declare war against Ferelden and all their Mabari.

Fenris couldn’t shake the feeling that he had found himself at a crossroads and every step he took from now on would decide whether he would he would be a footnote in history or whether he would get a whole chapter devoted to his good intentions and how horribly he failed, ruined everything and became the one responsible for burning Kirkwall to the ground with the fires of his failed attempt at… _dating?_ Were they dating? If this was dating, why did society generally frame this as a fun and somehow _required_ social activity when in pursuit of what one might call a romantic relationship? No, not relationship! That came later. For _some_ people, not necessarily Patsy and him… Romantic connection. Entanglement. An acquaintanceship based on a mutual acknowledgement of each other’s attractiveness.

_What the fuck is wrong with me???_

“Fenris, are you alright?”

His eyes flew open (he hadn’t even realised that they were closed) and he stared in bewilderment at Merrill, who had somehow materialized at his side.

“Huh?”

She looked at him with concern, maybe even pity, as she patted his shoulder.

“You’re sweating and standing in front of the shower curtains, mumbling to yourself. Clearly something is wrong? Should I call a doctor? Did you get a concussion after all?”

“No!”

That came out louder than intended, and Merrill raised her eyebrows in a way that told him she was already compiling a list of all the homemade medicines she would have to feed him. Most of them probably containing honey. He put the shower curtain he’d apparently been clutching to his chest back on the shelf and tried to look as though he wasn’t currently having an emotional meltdown surrounded by bathroom accessories.

“I mean, I’m fine. I’m just… thinking.”

Merrill’s eyes darted from his face to the shower curtain and then back to him and the too-innocent smile around her lips told him that he’d been caught.

“Oh, _Fenris_. I’m sure she’ll be happy about any shower curtain you get her. It’s the gesture that matters. Well, and maybe you should also think about giving a good apology. I mean, you’re not terribly good with words when you don’t write them down but if you want to, we can practice? I could be Patsy and you could be, well, _you_. We almost have the same hair colour, so it wouldn’t be too hard to imagine me as her, right?”

“I… don’t…”

He could do nothing but blink - once, twice - as Merrill pressed a shower curtain in his hands.

“Alright, so, I’m Patsy and you want to apologize and give me this curtain.”

Fenris just continued to stare, while Merrill began to slouch a bit and pretended to put her hands in invisible pockets. Well, it did somehow remind him of Patsy... What was happening?

“Fenris, you’re here! Why don’t you come in and sit down on my couch where we had our passionate encounter, while I finish shooting these so-called Noobs in my electronic game on the internet?”

What? Was? Happening?

“Okay, let’s just pretend you said hello and sat down. Maybe she made you a tea. Or a coffee? I’m not sure what she prefers. Maybe just some juice. Anyway, so we’re sitting on the couch. What do you do?”

Merrill was looking at him expectantly and apparently he was supposed to say something now. Perhaps he really had suffered a concussion and this all was just a terrible hallucination and soon he’d wake up in a hospital bed.

“Fenris, why aren’t you saying anything? You came all the way to my flat, drinking my hot or cold beverage and now you’re just silent? And what is that in your hands?”

She nodded at him in encouragement.

“I’m… sorry?”

“For ruining my bathroom or for walking out on me or for not replying to any of my text messages, leaving me worried that you might be dead and/or not interested in me anymore?”

“Hey, that’s not… that’s… _ugh_ , I’m really the worst, aren’t I.”

Merrill sighed and straightened her back, ending her Patsy-cosplay.

“You sort of are, sometimes. But _usually_ you’re pretty great. I mean, you’re completely stressing out about buying a shower curtain. People who are the worst don’t do that.”

That was… surprisingly reassuring and he was secretly quite touched by Merrill’s attempt at helping him work through his big pile of fuck-up’s. So touched that he didn’t even complain as she put her arm through his and leaned against him.

“So, just pick one!”

“Pick what?”

“One of these curtains! I can assure you, it’s not the shower curtain that matters, it’s the person that’s gonna give it to her with shaking hands because he is sort of a walking disaster when it comes to love.”

“ _Love?_   What?” There must have been something stuck in his throat, because he suddenly had to cough really intently. “I mean, … _uh_ … also, disaster? That’s a bit… _hm_....”

“I rest my case.” She patted his arm. “It’s fine. Just pick one.”

“I don’t know, they all look bland and boring, there’s nothing that really… oh, _wait!_ That one is perfect!”

Yes, history was full of chaos and darkness but there were also moments of triumph. Well-earned victories bestowed unto those that remembered weird cartoon characters their attractive acquaintances liked.

“Interesting choice. Does Patsy really like yellow?”

Fenris pressed the curtain to his chest and smiled the smug smile of someone who easily forgets that they’re sort of pathetic, really.

“No, not yellow. Spongebert.”

 

 

 


	22. Descent Into Dating Hell: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating is really hard, but they're fine, everything is fine, THEY'RE FINE.

“God, maybe I should just cancel.”

“Cookie.”  Jethann’s voice was slanted at an extremely reasonable angle as it drifted through the phone, dripping patience all the way across town from his apartment to hers.  “You’re not going to cancel.”

The reflection in Bobby’s bathroom mirror was not so sure.  After the post-freezer/awkward-conversation/kiss-in-the-parking-lot elation had worn off, it had been replaced with its equivalent volume in anxious uncertainty and more than a little suspicion that she’d just made a terrible mistake.  Which, honestly, would be just like her.

The pimple attempting to sprout on her chin definitely agreed.

“Jeth, I’m all gross and blotchy.”

“PMS is not a good reason to cancel a date, Bobby.”

“Seems like a perfectly valid reason to me,” she muttered, scrunching up her face and staring down the telltale bags of ‘didn’t sleep because brain is stupid’ beneath her eyes.  “Just because you don’t have a uterus-”

“That’s it, I’m calling Fenris.”

Bobby dropped the brush in her hand, wincing when it cracked sharply against the chipped ceramic sink.  “Fenris?  What for?”

“He needs to lock you back in the freezer because _clearly_ you are losing it.”

“I’m not losing it, I’m just-”

There was a word for what she was.  Probably.  Somewhere.

“Scared.”

“What?  No.  Me?  I’m not scared.  You’re scared.”

“Cookie.”

Bobby exhaled all in a rush, fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose.  The last thing she needed was a Red Bull and vodka headache when in just a few hours she was supposed to be making polite conversation over appetizers and focusing on not spilling anything on herself.  Or anyone else.  Or falling off her heels.  Should she even wear heels?  Was that overdressing?  Crap, they hadn’t even picked a restaurant, how was she even supposed to know what the hell to wear, and why was she standing in her bathroom in her Power Rangers underwear staring at Mount Doom erupting on her chin and having a melt down over _shoes._ Maybe she did need to get back in the freezer.  Maybe she needed to live in a freezer.  Maybe she should see if The Brewmother would let her sublet.

“Cookie?”

“Okay fine, you win.  Maybe I’m nervous.  A little.”

“Aww,” Jeth cooed over the line, smug as a cat with an unguarded stick of butter.  “You _like_ him.”

“Do not!” Eighth grade Bobby instinctively objected, catching herself too late and balling her hand into a clenched fist of regret.

“You like him, you liiiiiike him.”

“Shut up.”

“Cullen and Bobby, sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-”

“I hate you.”

“Use protection!” The laughter on the other end of the line was not going to stop any time soon.   “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“As if that’s possible. Is there anything even _on_ that list?”

“It _is_ a pretty short list.”

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but smile, squeezing her eyes shut before standing up straight, rolling her shoulders like a boxer punching above her weight, or some other sports analogy that may or may not be appropriate. “Okay I’m hanging up now, spawn of Satan.  I’ll call you later.”

“Try and have a good time, Cookie.  Love you.”

“Love you too.”

* * *

 

Why a double date of all things? Initially, she had thought that having other people as buffer between she and Fenris was a really good idea but the closer they got to the date, the less Patsy was convinced of this. Now, with only a few hours left, she was entirely sure that there had never been a worse idea, _ever_. She didn’t know what to wear, she didn’t know what to say, she didn't know what to eat. Because they had yet to pick a restaurant. She didn’t know anything about dating, so it was entirely possible that she was about to break all of the rules.

Great, great, now there would be two witnesses to her being stupid while trying to navigate a conversation with Fenris around the huge shower-curtain-shaped elephant in the room. Because they simply had not talked about it. Granted - Patsy really didn’t want to think back to that incident. And everyone in the world was probably better off just collectively forgetting that it ever happened. But sadly it wasn’t like they could just cut it out of time completely. And because the world was cruel and mean, both of them not really acknowledging it just made it even clearer that it did, indeed, happen.

But they were fine. Everything was fine. They were going to go on this double date from hell and watch Bobby and Cullen be awkward and cute, while Patsy would inevitably end up making a bad pun about tomato sauce and a bloody bathroom and then be forced to excuse herself for a moment to go impale herself on a fork. Everything was...

“ _Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ , tell me what to dooooo!”

But no matter how loud she yelled, her Hanna Solo toilet seat did nothing but stare back at her in agony.

“WHY ARE YOU SO QUIET, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Agony and disappointment.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have yelled like this. I’m just really desperate. I don’t want him to hate me. Maybe I should go ahead and cancel the date?”

Quiet judgment.

“Alright, alright! I’m going! Gonna go get ready right now!”

There was only one problem: over night, all of her clothes had mysteriously turned into ugly, misshapen things that screamed “I didn’t know how to apply eyeliner as a teenager and used copious amounts of it anyway.” Well, it was a good thing her twin sister was Kirkwall’s Queen of Dating. Bobby would know what to do! This was the one time in their lives where her sister could be the calm and collected one. Who would’ve thought that all the shitty, arranged dates her sister went to would ever be good for something?

With such a positive and innocent mindset, nothing could have prepared Doomed Dating Flop Patricia Hawke for the scene that awaited her at the Infamous Dating Queen’s flat: a huge ball of hysteria and desperation in the shape of her sister, curled up in the middle of what looked like the aftermath of a wardrobe emptying its stomach after a bad night of drinking.

Well, _shit_.

* * *

 

Ten years ago, the local government had approved a massive project to clear Kirkwall's dilapidated waterfront, investing millions of dollars into what the newspapers had called 'the largest civic-sponsored gentrification project the city had ever seen'.  It came with a host of scandals involving nepotistic government contracting and the use of vastly underpaid workers with sketchy legal status, and failed to completely put an end to the racketeering and creative legal interpretation endemic to any city where a prominent criminal organization had ever taken hold, but at the least it had managed to push what the Dumar administration couched with great diplomacy as 'unsavory elements' to the outskirts of the city.

All of which he'd learned while reading an old issue of the _Free Marcher_ while sitting in a waiting room while his nieces got braces.  He'd used this knowledge to foster exactly 1.2 conversations.

Even this early in the evening the district was bustling.  People cluttered the sidewalks, spilling in and out of shops and clustering beneath the awnings of restaurants.  Cars lined the widened street, parked bumper to bumper, and Cullen was glad that his penchant towards extreme earliness had (for once) come in handy.  It gave him time to find a place to park, to (for the eight hundredth time) debate the tie he'd chosen, and to have a long wavering debate with himself on whether or not he ought to leave the flowers he'd bought in the car.

Why he'd even purchased them, he wasn't even sure.  He found florists mesmerizing and confusing, and somehow he'd gone in for a single rose (cheesy) and come out with an entire bouquet (excessive).  What was she even going to do with them during dinner, hold them in her lap?  Clutch them to her chest like a bunch of dying foliage that happened to smell nice?  What were flowers even for anyway?

He elected to leave them in the car.

La Pasteria was only two blocks away, facing the water along the edge of the long curved park that had been designed along the waterfront with a dozen other restaurants.  It was relatively new - he thought, at least, remembering something vaguely about a grand opening mentioned in their local paper, though he wasn't really in the practice of trying out new places.  Or any places really.  With the notable exception of grabbing an after-work bite to eat with Bobby at Worthy's, which he looked forward to probably way more than he should, he ate the same four meals that he cooked for himself at home.  Alone.  Eating over the sink.

Depressing.  The highlight of his evenings should not be washing dishes.

_Chill out old man,_ he thought, finding himself anxiously pulling on his tie, jamming his hands into his pockets after obsessively checking his watch for what had to be the eight hundredth time since leaving the car.  It was fine.  Everything was fine.  He'd been looking forward to this all week and everything was going to be fine.

He hoped.

After a long phone conversation with his sister Mia, who found her brother's dating struggles amusing to an annoying degree, he'd opted to back off - _just a little_ (he could still hear his sister's voice in his ears, stressing those syllables), letting her take the reins and determine the frequency and duration of their time together.

That sounded terribly mathematical, like he was trying to chart this whole _dating_ thing on a spreadsheet.  Maybe he ought to do that.  Maybe he could estimate - no, that was stupid.  It was enough that by the end of the week she was once again venturing to his side of the mall, offering up a wave and a smile when he'd catch her eye going in and out of L3V3L UP or The Brewmother.  Zevran for his part seemed hopeful and approving, though snickerdoodles ended up on the counter of the bank with regularity, taunting him with their scent, as though to continually remind him of his interest.

Really not subtle, that Zevran.  Well meaning, but definitely not subtle.

He had made a concession with the tie, though, opting for red instead of gray.  It matched, somewhat inadvertently, the flowers he'd bought for Bobby, and for Maker's sake, this felt disturbingly like prom. And prom, like all other adolescent events fraught with hormones and unreasonable expectations, was terrible.

_Pull yourself together, Rutherford,_ he chided, starting when a woman in the group to his left glanced at him sharply.  Great, he must have said that out loud.  Nothing like standing alone talking to yourself in public to boost your inner confidence.

For the eight hundred and one-th time, he checked his watch.

* * *

 

There was something to be said about the status quo - specifically about maintaining it.

You really didn’t have to do anything to make things stay the same, and if Fenris was a master of anything it was in doing… nothing.

Alternately, there was a long historical precedence where the lack of change ruined everything, kingdoms and countries crumbling into ruin because they failed to adapt to modern innovations.  There were any number of wars that had been decidedly one-sided because a monarch had neglected to take advantage of the new technology that his opponent had chosen to embrace.

Not unlike himself and this whole ‘texting’ issue, which if you thought about it was really just one small part of a larger issue called ‘communication’.  He, apparently, was bad at it, and it left him on decidedly uneven ground on this particular battlefield.

Not that this was a battle.  Not exactly.  Maybe a little in that he did _definitely_ feel as though he’d taken some very distinct losses (his still-faintly-bruised eye concurred), but it wasn’t his intention to treat Patsy like an enemy combatant.  So he probably should have done a better job with um… breaking ‘radio silence’, so to speak.

He really needed to stop with all these stupid military analogies, and use some of the time he spent watching documentaries on the history channel to have an actual conversation with his g-

His gir-

His girlfr-

His acquaintance of mutually agreed upon attraction.

Yes.  Whatever the hell that was.  

He could already see Bobby in his mind, staring him down with disapproval.  It didn’t help at all that he continually pictured her in the cookie suit she’d been wearing when he met her, making mafia eyes at him through the glass at The Brewmother as though she could tell that his chips weren’t up to snuff.

Great, the last thing he needed was to think of everything in terms of cookies.  Someone should bar him from using analogies altogether.

It was a nice enough evening for a walk, but ugh, the Promenade.  A more pointless bastion of consumerism there never was, and built on the bones of such a historic harbor as - nevermind.  No more history, at least until he could figure out which end of capitalist hell he’d emerged onto and locate the restaurant that Patsy had texted him earlier.  He was also pointedly not thinking of how that was the first they’d spoken in two days after a lunch ‘date’ that had gone resoundingly _meh_.  Not that it had gone badly, not exactly, but they had both been so committed to not talking about the Hanna Solo toilet seat incident that they hadn’t quite managed to talk about anything else.

He was going to change that tonight if it _killed_ him.  On second thought, maybe it was better not to test his luck.  Either way, he’d gone to the agonizing trouble of purchasing a peace offering, the least he could do (for his sake and hers) was get through this date.  

Oh Spongebert. If only that little cartoon cube monster knew how much Fenris was relying on him.  He’d considered bringing the shower curtain he’d purchased with him to the restaurant just to show how over it he was, but it seemed sort of stupid to haul it all the way across town.  He’d just have to convince Patsy to come back to his flat after dinner.  

You know, for a night cap.  Right.  A glass of wine?  Did she even like wine?  Would it seem too much like he was just trying to get her into bed?  Not that he _wasn’t_ trying to, she was obviously a very beautiful girl and he was _very_ interested in revisiting their night together, just maybe this time in a space a little less likely to cause his death with knick knacks and collectibles.

Right, he sounded _super_ over it.

Nevermind all that.  He’d just caught a glimpse of a familiar set of shoulders with an annoyingly attractive breadth, lurking awkwardly against the side of the restaurant. Cullen was entirely too tall with a posture too precise to slouch comfortably, and it didn’t even last the time it took to walk half a block, straightening up and adjusting his tie - his _tie -_ before neurotically checking his watch in a way that made Fenris feel like he was running late even though he knew for certain that he was a few minutes early.

Blond stuffed shirt - ugh.  What did Bobby see in him anyway, what with his stupid muscles and obvious dedication to being taller than anyone else.  It was practically charity work, if you asked him.  Which no one had.  Because no one else was there yet.

Fenris sighed and didn’t quite manage not to roll his eyes, usurping Cullen’s spot and slouching properly against the wall.

“Hi Fenris,” the walking sports catalogue said, eyeing him as though he’d just beamed down from a spaceship or whatever it was that he was into, clearly more invested in watching the second hand on his watch drag slowly on than in what was happening around him.  

Fenris, who was far too good for watches, whipped out his phone and pretended to be texting while secretly checking the time.  “Hey.”

Maker, ten more minutes until the time he’d agreed to meet the twins.  How had he managed to walk across town so quickly?  Had he known, he would have slowed down.  Taken the long way around, even.  He had no idea what he had even been thinking, assuming that Patsy would be on time.  Bobby maybe, but it was well documented that an army only moved at the speed of its slowest units… and there he went again.  At this rate all he was going to be able to spout at dinner was military gibberish.

“So…” Cullen started, rocking back on the heels of his shiny - _shiny!_ \- shoes with his hands in his pockets, resembling for all the world a gawky teenager.

_Don’t talk to me,_ Fenris thought vehemently in perfect silence.   _I have to be able to make conversation at dinner!  Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me-_

It was all for naught.  “How was your day?”

Seriously?  God help him.  “Fine?”

“Oh,” Cullen said, faintly crestfallen, as though he’d expected something other than the one word response he’d gotten.  “That’s good.”

Fenris waited as long as he could - a landmark fifteen seconds - for Cullen to stop looking at him expectantly before he caved, though he refused to look up from the factory-setting background of his phone.  “Yours?”  He should really change that background, but to what? The last thing he took a picture of was a couple of book titles at the library that he wanted to remember, that wasn’t exactly exciting.

“Oh, fine.  Good so far.”  Clearly the air was attempting to be filled.

What did Patsy have as her phone background, he wondered.  Was that something he should remember as her b-

boy-

boyfri-

-acquaintance of mutually agreed upon attraction?  Or was that weird and snoopy and prying and did people not do that, share their phone backgrounds and… whatever.

What were the rules of engagement exactly, and where could they be studied - that’s what he really wanted to know.  He didn’t recall having such difficulties previously, but then he hadn’t ever really spent time like this with another person. Hadn’t ever really tried to.  Certainly had never been roped into a double date - and now he was convinced that he was probably going to do it wrong, whatever ‘it’ was.  Fantastic.

“Well that was fun,” he heard Cullen mutter off to the side, facing slightly away to peer down the darkening sidewalk toward the street corner.  It probably wasn’t even the right direction, and Fenris _could_ have told him that, but clearly he was far too busy texting all of his friends and/or creating an elaborate hoax of his life on the internet.

“So,” Cullen tried again.  “Did you know that the Promenade project is supposed to be the largest civic-sponsored gentrification project the city has ever seen?”

“Of course I knew that.  Who doesn’t know that?”  It was local history for crying out loud, you would basically have to be living under a rock to have missed that tidbit.

“Oh,” Cullen said, clearly taken aback.  “Sorry.  Kirkwallers and their history, and all that.”

Fenris sniffed.  “I’m not from Kirkwall.”

“Me neither.”

There was a lengthy pause as Cullen looked at his watch and Fenris looked at his phone, and finally, FINALLY, a Kirkwall Municipal Bus rolled to a stop at the corner.

* * *

 

_I’ve made a huge mistake._

Patsy’s grip on the grab handle tightened with her increasing frown. Not only because their bus seemed to be taking a route full of potholes, but because she was suddenly filled with regret over any and all clothing choices she’d made at Bobby’s apartment. Looking at her sister swaying on her feet and almost being pressed face-first into the back of a bored-looking teenager next to them, things weren’t much different for her.

“Bobby!”

Her sister staggered closer to her and grabbed the handle Patsy was holding as well.

“What?”

“Why did you let me take your boobs?!”

“Because you asked for them!”

“But I feel as though they’re going to fall out at any moment! What if it happens at dinner? Just _splat_ and then there’s my fake boobs on the table!”

“Your boobs are not going to fall out! We used the special boob tape!”

The twins might have lowered their voices if they weren’t so used to receiving weird stares from strangers. And friends. And family.

“I think it’s because your jeans are too tight for me! My stomach fat is being pushed up and it presses against the boob area and it’s gonna make them fall out, I swear!”

Bobby huffed.  “At least a boobmergency will distract everyone from my hysterical laughter. Or screaming. One of those.”

There was an especially nasty pothole and Patsy found herself squished between the window and her sister. If she died now, at least she wouldn’t have to go on the date. She almost smiled at the thought. Bobby groaned and shifted her purse so it wasn’t digging into her side anymore.

“Why did we take the bus again?”

“Because you were too chicken to ask Cullen to pick us up.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, he totally would have done it. He was probably waiting for you to ask! And now he’s driving to the restaurant, all sad and confused as to why you don’t require his car services anymore.”

That earned her a punch to the upper arm. Well-deserved, maybe, but teasing Bobby was surprisingly effective at taking her mind off of things like fake boobs falling into pasta sauce or Fenris leaving early, because he simply could not take another one of her shitty jokes.

“Bobby.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Oh fucking shit, what if he says that? What if he says he can’t talk to me? What if he hates me?”

Another punch to the arm. OW! WHY?

“Shut up. He doesn’t hate you.”

Maybe not yet… She could feel sweat forming between her now-decently-sized-looking boobs and fished a tissue from her purse to discreetly dab at it.

“Bobby.”

“WHAT?”

“We have to get off at the next stop.”

“Maker help us.”

 


	23. Descent into Dating Hell:  Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much ado about soaping.

Regrets.  Bobby had accumulated quite a few of them so far in her short, ridiculous life - every time she let her mother talk her into going on a date, that time she insisted on dressing up like Baby Spice for school photos (only made better/worse by the fact that Patsy was Scary Spice and they were right next to each other in the yearbook), staying up all night playing Mass Effect by convincing herself that she could do ‘just one more mission,’ and then having to work after playing through Virmire - the list went on and on.

All of these paled in comparison to the sensation of crushing remorse and impending doom that washed over her like a stray surfboard to the back of the head as she stepped off the bus and saw Cullen and Fenris awkwardly waiting for them.  Separately.  But right next to each other.

Just a few minutes ago, the fact that she’d opted to wear a furry wookie suit on the same night that Cullen would kissed her for the first time was definitely on the Long List Of Alphabetized Woe.  If only she could hide her face under a wookie head now!  At least it would (probably) muffle the hysterical laughter threatening to burst out of her at any moment.

Alas, no fur to hide her and too late to turn around and jump back on the bus. They’d been spotted.

As soon as they started moving, things started to go wrong.  Next to her, Patsy seemed to have forgotten how to smile in a not-creepy way and also how to walk naturally. What was she doing?

“Patsy,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

“What?” the stork stalking next to her hissed back.

“Act normal!”

“You’re the one chewing on your thumb."

 _Shit._ They were getting closer at an alarming speed, considering that they both seemed to be slowing down. _Shitty shit shit._

“Good evening,” Mr. Cullen Rutherford greeted them and she could almost hear the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack she'd been listening to earlier playing eerily in the background. Not that she wouldn’t love to see him emerge from a lake, white shirt clinging to his torso, outlining his impressive abs… _STOP IT, BOBBY!_

Cullen’s polite greeting was followed by awkward silence from everyone, giving Bobby enough time to realize that she wasn’t sure how to properly greet him either. Handshake? Too formal. Wave? No, there should be physical contact probably. She opted for a hug, but for some reason decided to give one to Fenris first to make it seem more natural. Fenris awkwardly patted her back as she crushed him against her, trying to communicate through frantic squeezing that she was expecting him to help her get through this mess because they had once shared a freezer.

Next to her, Patsy tried to bridge the awkward gap by hugging Cullen, which immediately made Fenris bristle. Oh good, already a disaster all around. She reluctantly let Fenris go and then sort-of-but-not-really waved at Cullen before putting her arms around his shoulders.

His shoulders were too wide.

Should she move her arms to his neck? Too intimate?

Just as he moved to put his arms around her as well, she let him go again and - why was this so hard, why could she not just relax, why was she so stupid, and where was all this static in her head coming from?!

Bobby shuffled her feet nervously and tried to keep up a smile while she watched Patsy and Fenris do their weird mating-dance. It started with a hug that looked painfully awkward at first but then she was pretty sure there was sudden butt-touching and they there was kissing, and just - _Ugh, save it for later, assholes!_ And now Fenris had lipstick on his face. Great.

“Should we…” her voice came out weak as a vegan mosquito, and she coughed a few times before she tried again. “Should we go inside?”

The invisible cloud hanging over them raining awkwardness and despair followed them into the restaurant, and the downpour only seemed to increase as soon as they were led towards their table. Nobody wanted to be the first one to sit down and so they just stood hovering around the table until Patsy swore under her breath and plopped down on a chair. Bobby followed her lead and made to sit down next to her, when Cullen pulled out the chair.

“Ah... please sit down,” gesturing toward the seat as she stood there staring at it as though confused.  Which she was.

 _Oh!_ He was being polite! Maker, she should have seen this coming.  How many of her stupid posh dates had done this before? She usually found it pompous and condescending, and yet the way he stood there, clearly made uncomfortable by her hesitation, was sort of - sweet?  God, what did he even see in her?  Why was he so _nice?_ If it was supposed to be her antitheses, then why did she _like it_ so much?

Three sets of slightly panicked eyes greeted her as she finally sat down and looked around the table.  Everyone had decided to stare at her like she was the reason they all were there, and - oh. She was.

She could already see the shocking article in _Kirkwall Daily_.  "Double Date Fueled by Poor Life Choices (TM) Catalyst for Spontaneous Combustion of Four Kirkwall Residents, or Inevitable Consequence of Questionable Zoning of Local Food Sector?  Find out on page six."

* * *

 

Cullen’s stupid red tie blazed at him from across the table like an angry exclamation point. The !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU WILL FUCK THIS UP !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! kind. He didn’t need the reminder, thank you very much, especially not from a piece of clothing that he considered outdated and a complete waste of labor and resources. It should not come as a surprise that he couldn’t recall ever seeing Cullen without one. He probably wore them with his pajamas, too.

Fenris forced himself to look somewhere else and his gaze landed on Patsy. Her cleavage, to be more precise. Which, well… he’d thought that he had gotten quite familiar with that particular area, but something was different. He narrowed his eyes as if to zoom in on his target, fingers twitching in an attempt to summon the memories of holding her boobs in his hands.

Over the table.  In plain sight of everyone.  Because of course it was.

It wasn’t like they notic- no, there it was, the inevitable trifecta of disaster, like invasive question-lasers shot from the eyeballs.  All eyes were on him and the weird spider shapes he was making.  Immediately he clenched both fists as though he was cracking his knuckles.  Patsy, at least, seemed none the wiser though Bobby was staring over the table at him sort of desperately while Cullen looked at _her_ the same way.

Fenris cleared his throat.  “Shall we- wine.  Yes,” he suggested and confirmed without waiting for a response, snatching up the wine card in the center of the table.

Not that he was hiding behind it.  That would be ridiculous, even if it was a useful buffer between the rest of the table and the flames that seemed intent on burning his eyebrows from his face.  If he was meant to eat pasta as the name _La Pasteria_ would imply, then it was only natural to- good god, why was everything so expensive?!  There wasn’t a thing on the list that he could possibly afford - even what he would consider the middling, barely passable wine was overpriced.  That was restaurant markup for you, which was clearly a result of the toxic capitalistic over-enthusiasm this entire district was predicated on in the first place.

Maybe reading Helmi's critique on capitalism before dinner hadn’t been such a good idea.  Now he was just railing internally against dollar signs, and they were _everywhere._ He wasn’t even entirely certain whether or not he was supposed to offer to pay for Patsy’s dinner.  Fenris had never been on a double date before, which was becoming more and more obvious as the seconds ticked by and his hands started to sweat around the ivory cardstock sheet. Come to think of it, he’d never been on an actual proper date at all, ever. Usually he just went straight to the after-date-activities, without the need for restaurants and shitty restaurant wine and paying for food and paying for _other_ people’s food…

He’d just have to order the cheapest wine and try to rein in his disgusted expression, he could do this, he cou-... 18 DOLLAR FOR THE BOTTLE? THE CHEAPEST? AND 5 FOR A SINGLE GLASS? He closed his eyes for a moment to contemplate whether it was really worth it. He could always opt for a non-alcoholic beverage.

“May I take your order?”

Out of nowhere a waiter appeared and as Fenris opened his eyes again and lowered the wine card, he noticed that the others had spend their time reading the actual menu. Well, everyone has their priorities. While Patsy and Bobby ordered their food (pizza pollo and cannelloni), he frantically scanned the menu and then settled on a random number from the pasta section.

“So, that’s number 56, Mussel Linguine and a bottle of Chardonnay for you?”

He could do nothing but nod, time moving in slow-motion as he bid farewell to his money and his hopes of at least getting a savory meal out of this. Mussels. _Why?_ He was torn out of his despair by Cullen placing the most ridiculously boring order that had ever been ordered anywhere in the world.

“I’d like the _Spaghetti Aglio e Olio_ , with… ah… only a tiny bit of the… _aglio_ … and a glass of water. Thank you.”

Fenris was about to comment when he caught Bobby’s death stare and _ugh_ , he probably had to be nicer to Cullen. After all, he had sort of promised Bobby to help her out and he was a man of his word. Also, Bobby knew about The Hanna Solo Toilet Seat Incident and he couldn’t risk Cullen ever knowing about that. He’d just have to keep the smug disdain on the inside. _Oily spaghetti and water, typical Colin!_

After the waiter took the menus away, there was nowhere left to hide and they were back to staring at each other hopelessly while also trying to avoid making eye contact.  Why wasn’t anybody saying anything? Why could he not think of anything? Only… only…

“Did you know that the Promenade project is supposed to be the largest civic-sponsored gentrification project the city has ever seen?”

The heartwarming view of Cullen’s appalled face would definitely help him get through this evening.

Bobby, like the flailing bundle of freezer-dwelling emotion she was, immediately latched onto the topic.  “Wow, Fenris, I didn’t know that! Super interesting, why don’t you elaborate!”

Totally overeager.  He wondered if she was rethinking this whole infatuation with the walking starched collar.  She probably just wanted to touch his biceps.  Fenris could see the appeal, but after the guy opened his mouth, all those boring words stumbling out did a lot to obscure it.

Before he could say anything else, Cullen caught his eye across the table.

_Well shit._

“That’s true, though even ten years after the fact it’s efficacy is still hotly contested.  I’m really curious to hear your thoughts about that, Fenris.”  

Cullen was still making awkwardly direct eye contact with him across the table, and suddenly - was it getting hot in here?  It couldn’t be the incredibly overpriced wine, that hadn’t even arrived yet, but he hadn’t been expecting the mild mannered noodle to suddenly challenge him to a fact-checking duel.

Dammit!  He should have seen this coming. Why hadn’t he read up on this?

“Well,” he said, clearly stalling for time as he flipped through his mental rolodex of citations.  Modern history wasn’t his forte, but surely he’d read something about this once, hadn’t he?  “This area has always been a major economic influence in the city, it only makes sense that it would be reorganized in an effort to maximize profits.”   _Take that, you walking pocket protector!_

“But you know that _reorganization_ process actually disenfranchised the original landowners in this area,” Cullen returned smoothly - _suspiciously_ smoothly - leaning forward to lace his fingers together on the table.  “And recent studies have drawn correlations between those landowners and the populist opponents of the city government at the time, so really one has to question who this movement really benefitted.”

Really?   _Really?  One_ had to question it?  He was the only one allowed to use pretentious language and know more than everyone else at the table, that was the whole point of having a degree in history.  It didn’t help that he didn’t give a shit about politics, unless they were the politics of people who had been dead for over a century and could be looked at with a certain measure of dispassionate objectivity that - that wasn’t even the point.

“Well historically speaking, it’s not uncommon for the ruling powers to exhibit some degree of corruption when it comes to imminent domain.”   _Ha!_

“But _economically_ speaking-” _Ah shit._ “It’s less congruous that such sweeping executive action wouldn’t start to yield any financial gains until well after the government that instituted it was out of power.”

“Civil engineering takes time.  You don’t just plant a tree and immediately expect it to bear fruit.” Which was pointing out the obvious, and with a weird plant analogy, way to go Fenris.  And how he had somehow ended up sounding like an apologist for the very capitalist system he opposed?  And why was he even still pretending to have any idea what he was talking about?  

This was not turning out at all as he’d planned.  Bobby was staring back and forth between them with her mouth open while her fingers shredded a dry breadstick all over her appetizer plate and half the tablecloth.  Thank god Patsy had tuned out somewhere around the word ‘efficacy’ and was playing with something involving brightly colored boxes on her phone

“That’s true,” Cullen said, the tone of his voice pitched so reasonably it was endlessly annoying.  Where was the stammering R2D2 from the movie theater?  The overly-pressed starched collar who couldn’t say two words to Bobby without turning seven shades of red and tripping over his own shiny shoes?  This is what he got for letting people into his freezer.

Cullen was saying something else, something about the link between organized crime and property ownership or something else god awful boring/that Fenris didn’t know about, and rather than leap into the enormous hole he seemed to have dug for himself (and before Patsy could start paying attention again and realize that he was actually kind of a jerk and a loser), he shrugged and looked around hopefully for the waiter.  “I’ll have to consider it further.”

“Please do.  I’m really interested in your thoughts.” And he didn’t even sound like he was being insincere, what the hell was this guy’s problem.  There he was, calmly smiling and not even in a mocking way, as though he had genuinely just enjoyed this conversation.   _Just take the point, noodle, and shut up!_ he internally groused, but at least now the awkward silence was broken, if at his expense.  Fenris wasn’t sure what Bobby owed him for this, but she was going to owe it to him   _forever._

* * *

The unexpectedly lively conversation/duel between Fenris and Cullen was petering out, and rather than let their table become another desert where conversations go to shrivel up and die, Bobby did the only thing she could think of.

She kicked Patsy under the table.

Patsy yelped and dropped her phone, naturally hurrying to check and see if she’d cracked her screen on the edge of the table before looking up to glare at her twin.

 _What is wrong with you?_ Bobby signaled with her eyebrows.

 _That hurt!_ Patsy’s crinkled nose replied.

 _Pull yourself together and interact with your date!_ Bobby widened her eyes meaningfully and motioned to Fenris with a subtle nod of her head.

 _I will! You’re so right and wise, Bobby. It’s so clear how you’re the older twin. I admire you greatly and will do everything in my power for this date to go smoothly so you can end the evening making out with Cullen in a hot yet very grown-up way, not involving any furry wookie legs this time_ , Patsy’s face unmistakably stated.

Her sister actually turned around to Fenris and leaned on the table in a way that must have given him quite the view since both of his eyes immediately bugged out of his head.  Well, those two were hopeless and she had her own battles to fight.

And there was really no time like the present.  Which was already at least fifteen minutes too late.  The awkward hug from outside was still haunting her, rattling chains in the back of her mind like the ghost of bad dates past, and now since Patsy and Fenris’ attentions were securely on one another, she could try and make her move.

Or, you know, say hello.

When he turned his head and saw her looking, he smiled, the expression a mixture of surprise and relief, like he’d just run a marathon blindfolded and was elated to find he’d come in first.  It was also maybe just a little bit smug, but that inflection was quickly banished, diminishing under Cullen’s usual polite demeanor of… politeness.

He had such nice manners for someone choosing to spend his time with people who wasted their lunch breaks playing Xbox and debating the relative hotness of completely fictional characters.  She was no stranger to insane life choices and she really had no room to judge, but she did still wonder why, of all the people in the Kirkmall who were undoubtedly more suitable, he was interested in _her._

Not that she was upset about it. Well, maybe only a little upset, but that was mostly due to her recent discovery of his incredible attractiveness and her own mental anguish over her various foot in mouth moments and apparent inability to function like a normal adult when he was around.

Like right now.   _Stop staring at him and say something!_

“I like your tie!”   _It would look even better on my floor.  Oh god, no, don’t say that._

Cullen looked down as though he’d forgotten he was wearing one, and then shrugged one shoulder, endearingly embarrassed.  “Thank you, ah- you look-” He cleared his throat, casting an eye around the table as though looking for a glass of water that still hadn’t materialized, and gave the knot of his tie a nervous pull before settling his hands back down on his thighs.  “You look really beautiful.  I probably should have told you that earlier.”

“Now is good,” she said, smiling both at the compliment and her automatic repartee.  She really _could_ flirt when she wasn’t too busy dealing with the screaming and flailing inside her head.  Score one for Kirkmall’s Dating Queen!  All that practice was good for something.

Maybe.

Oh shit, now what to say?

Fortunately she didn’t have to think of anything else (the tides of panic could rise _so_ fast) because he’d already latched onto the dangling thread of the conversation like it was a safety rope down the edge of a steep cliff.

“I’m glad you asked me out.”

“Well, it’s still early.”

“Not that early,” Cullen remarked drolly, indicating across the table with one eyebrow slightly lifted.  Bobby almost choked on the end of the breadstick that had actually made it into her mouth.

Patsy and Fenris had scooted their chairs close to one another and something was definitely going on under the table, and if they were about to have another dick on leg situation and get thrown out of this brand new restaurant, her twin could just deal with her small boobs by herself from now on.

“Dear god.  That is just-”

“It’s okay,” he said with a very reasonable shrug of his unreasonably broad shoulders.  “They’re young.”

She found herself laughing.  “You know Patsy and I are the same age.”

“I forget that sometimes.”

“Well the five extra minutes count for a lot I guess.”  Clearly she’d sucked all the knowledge and wisdom out of the air by emerging from the womb first.

Ugh, there was a thought.

“How old are you anyway, Cullen?”  There, conversation officially deflected from all thoughts of birth-related activity.  Sort of.  After a fashion.  And still probably not the best direction to turn toward as for some reason his face was turning colors, the side of his neck above the gray collar of his shirt a bright pink.

You could ask men their ages, couldn’t you?  It wasn’t like, _a thing_ , like it was with women (and that she didn’t even understand anyway), was it?

“Thirty-five,” he said finally, like he was confessing he’d just driven her metaphorical car into a metaphorical tree.

“I’d wondered.”

“Is that… okay?”

“Why, do you have a magic age-changing potion you’re going to drink if it’s not?”

“No, I-”  

Poor thing, he was pulling on his tie again.  He really was going to strangle himself with that thing one of these days, and then she would never get to see it on her floor.   _No, dammit brain, shut up!_

Cullen must have come to the same conclusion because he cleared his throat and dropped his hand.  “Some people might think that’s too old.  For you.”

“Why?”

“Because?”

They stared at each other for a long moment across the gap between their chairs.  The red coloring had crept all the way up his neck and was now spreading across his face up toward his ears, and it was just so stupidly weird and adorable that she burst out laughing.

She did not have a great track record with laughing at the right things at the right moments, granted, but this time rather than stare at her in slow motion horror he gave her a small smile that grew incrementally towards a grin when she smiled back.

“I like it,” she said.  “Just so we’re clear.  You’re sort of… calming.”

His shoulders moved in a laugh mostly silent.  “I can hardly imagine how that would be.”

Across the table, Patsy and Fenris were completely ignoring both of them, and she would bet the five dollars of change in her Eye of Sauron piggy bank that Fenris had his hand up the back of her sister’s shirt.  Maker.  “Well you see what I have to deal with.”

Cullen just shook his head, seeming not surprised in the least - or maybe just partially brain-damaged from trying to violently suppress the memories of all the _pew pewing_ in the backseat of his car.  “At least it’s never boring.”

And he hadn’t even heard about The Hanna Solo Toilet Seat Incident, though Fenris might leap over the table and stab her in the head with an escargot fork if she even thought about spilling the beans.

She sort of forgot to respond in the midst of that thought-bubble, what with its flying karate Fenris and a restaurant full of gasping patrons, and hadn’t looked away.  At some point Cullen had started looking back, and they both sort of just sat there and _looked_ at each other like that video of uninterrupted eye contact with Tom Hiddleston on YouTube, and she was _smiling_ , and when he reached over and took her hand she thought she was probably going to have a heart attack and die because there was all this thudding in her chest and those butterflies in her stomach again and-

She really needed to calm down and gain some perspective before she made herself pass out or something incredibly unnecessarily dramatic happened.  Because she wasn’t a dramatic person. Not. At. All.

He had warm hands, bigger than hers, strong too probably - like that wasn’t a line straight out of an eleventh-grade fanfic from hell.  She could feel those calluses on his palms again, wondered at it and briefly thought about asking but decided maybe she’d better just shut up for the time being because god only knew what would come flying out of her mouth like a half-chewed grissini of destruction.

Cullen was staring at her like a captivated sailor at a mermaid trying to lure him to his watery doom, which was both a weird analogy but also sort of flattering.  Without really consulting her at all, the butterflies in her stomach scooted her chair in towards his, and pulled his hand into her lap.

Well, onto her thigh a least.  Totally clothed, safe territory, which is more than she could say for whatever was going on across the table.

Thank god there were tablecloths.

Thank god they were more or less in a corner.

Thank god no enraged restaurant managers had come to confiscate their shitty breadsticks and order them to leave.

She and Patsy were really going to have to have a talk about this.  One day.  Eventually.

It was way easier to dwell on this fictitious conversation with her sister (which would not be entirely comprised of eyebrow movements… probably) than make eye contact with Cullen.  He’d gone extremely still since she’d relocated his hand like he wasn’t sure whether or not he was allowed to move, and she didn’t want to look over and find that his face had gone an alarming shade of purple. Hopefully he was remembering to breathe.

Eventually she heard him exhale, and he turned his hand over, palm facing up as though to reassure her that he had nothing but the politest of intentions even though she was the one who had instigated a hand on leg situation and clearly needed no reassurance.

She wasn’t really all that interested in polite intentions either if she was going to be honest.  Obviously they didn’t need another Patsy and Fenris at this table, but she would be lying if she said she never thought about what it would be like to feel those big, warm hands sliding up her-

Oh no.  Oh _shit._

* * *

 

Things were going well, Patsy thought. She and Fenris were having a very successful conversation about… well… she’d said “Sorry, I don’t really care about the economic situation of the Promenade,” and he’d said “Me neither,” and then he’d smirked and then the next part was kind of murky and had the ‘heart monitor going crazy’ background noise and now his hand was caressing her hip and her legs were entangled with his and it was going really, _really_ well!

“Excuse me for a minute, I’m just… be right back!”

Something in her sister’s voice sounded _off_ and Patsy forced her head away from Fenris’ smoldering eyes and very kissable lips. This reminded her of the time she got diarrhea during a family dinner with the grandparents and Patsy really hoped that that wasn’t the reason for the look of abject horror on her sister's face. She _did_ stagger away to the ladies room, clutching her purse as though it held precious medicine and Patsy sighed, full of sympathy.

_Fuck, I’ll kill her if she’s infected me!_

A stomach bug was really the very last thing she needed right now, when she was pretty confident she was getting laid tonight. Hopefully without people getting beaten up by shower curtains.

Cullen stared after her sister like a lost puppy. A lost puppy with a tie. And ironed trousers. She didn’t know anyone who even still owned flat irons, except for people over 50. Poor guy, he didn’t deserve to have his date ruined by a poop tornado, even if the whole evening had sort of started out as a prolonged shit storm of unendingly uncomfortable moments.

 _Did I do something wrong?_ his puppy face screamed at her.

 _It’s fine, just the unfortunate forces of nature at work_ , her eyebrows reassured him.

 _Huh?_ Confused puppy.

 _It. Is. Fine. Just. Upset. Stomach. Or. Something_ , she practically mouthed at him.  Really, was it so hard to understand?

“Patsy, are you alright?”

Cullen leaned forward and looked at her with a worried frown. All her Twin Face Conversation Powers of Ultimate Awesome were completely lost on him, what a pity.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. And don’t worry about the Blobster, she’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Strangely he didn’t look reassured _at all_ but before she could say more, the waiter returned with their drinks. She was pretty sure she heard Fenris mutter _“Finally”_ under his breath, and she tended to agree. Cullen also looked glad to receive his glass of still water. Did he really think that would get him through the dinner? The way he was gulping it down, he’d better order a whole bottle.

The bottle of wine she shared with Bobby looked way too cheap for what they’d have to pay for it. Its label only read “Chardonnay” and nothing else. Well. YOLO. She poured some into her glass, which… wasn’t the waiter supposed to be doing that? Whatever. She raised her glass to Fenris and then Cullen, whose glass was already half empty and why wasn’t Bobby coming back, was she really having an unfortunate bowel situation?

_Oh fuck, where the ever-loving dishwater hell did they get this wine from?_

“Urgh.”

Fenris grimaced and glared at his glass as though the wine had just told him in detail about what was happening right now inside of Bobby’s stomach.

“Not good?”

“Mhm? Oh no, it is… a very interesting taste. Quite, uhm… unusual finish, almost bitter.”

“Mine’s shit too.”

Fenris simply stared at her for a few second before he broke out in laughter and just like that, Patsy’s brain exploded. And her vagina, too. She was _just_ getting used to how hot he was when he smirked and did his little half-grins and now this? Was he trying to kill her?

She unabashedly ogled him, trying to commit everything to memory: the way his lips spread, showing those teeth that she wanted to feel on her skin later, the sinuous movement of his adam’s apple, the sound of his laughter, and if she were just a little closer she’d probably be able to feel it and…

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICH_ **

...then a Banshee decided to disturb her happy moment. Rude!

Fenris stopped laughing and was instead stared mortified at her mobile phone.  Cullen was choking on his water.

“Sorry, it’s just my phone. Uhm, text message alert… maybe I should change it.”

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICH_ **

“Sorry, I’ll put it on sil-”

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICH_ **

_“Shit, who the fuck is texting me?!”_

It was her sister. Of course. Texting her from the toilet. _Of course._

 

     Bobby: PATSY!!!

     Bobby:  HELP

     Bobby:  EMERGENCY

     Bobby:  COME TO THE LADIES ROOM

     Patsy: wtf r u out of toilet paper or what

     Bobby:  SOS

 

Well, what were twins for if not to support you when life was shit. Literally.

Was there a way to leave the table now without it being obvious that there was something weird going on in the ladies room? Proooobably not.

“Excuse me, I will be _right_ back.”

She grabbed her phone and her purse, because who knew what Bobby needed.  Maybe she just forgot her fucking lip gloss. You never knew with Bobby. Nevertheless, it was with a sense of doom that she opened the door to the restroom, only to find…

…her sister.  Sitting in the sink.

_What the fuck?_

Bobby stared at her, disposable razor in hand and skirt hiked up around her knees, pink flats and the contents of her purse strewn all over the counter of the sink.  “Don’t act like this is the worst thing you’ve ever caught me doing.”

Patsy shut the door.  It didn’t lock - why would it.  The whole world could just come walking in to witness her twin experiencing the death throes of the last of her dignity.  Seriously, she’d gotten distracted for a minute - just a minute! - and all of a sudden everything was a cyclone of pink tulle and desperation.

“So,” she said, casually leaning on the doorframe so that anyone who wanted to come in to pee would have to crash right into her.  “Whatcha doin?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Pastey?” Bobby answered crossly, rolling her eyes and brandishing her $1.99 razor.  “I’m trying to shave my damn legs.”

“Yeeeesss…” Patsy said slowly, because that part at least wasn’t a mystery.  “But why did you wait until _now?!_ Did you forget before we left?”

“No!” Bobby said defensively, shutting off the water in the sink.  “I did this on purpose.  Sort of.  It’s complicated, do I really need to explain!?”

 _YES!_ Patsy’s eyebrows exclaimed, both shooting toward her hairline so fast they probably dragged her fake boobs up along with them.

“Okay fine!” Bobby practically yelled, gesturing so violently with one arm she almost topped out of the basin.  “I didn’t really expect things to go super well, so I decided what’s the point, but then I remembered how I always forget how super ridiculous hot he is when I haven’t seen him for a couple of days, and how I think I actually might like him - _don't you judge me! -_ and how I just, you know, am trying to do this all… not... wrong … and… stuff… and…” She took a breath.  “I didn’t want to be all jumping his bones on technically our first real date, so I thought it could be like that whole ‘wear ugly underwear you don’t want other people to see’ thing, except I’m clearly stupid and out of my mind and now I have regrets.”

Patsy paused and thought it over.  “Is it bad that this makes perfect sense to me?”

Bobby huffed and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, no doubt dislodged by the rolling tidal waves of panic billowing around the room.  “Of course it makes sense, _it makes sense._ Now are you going to stand there all night or are you going to help me?”

"Help you how, you forgot how to shave?"

Her cool, calm, collected, older and wiser sister looked like she was about to blow a gasket and launch herself into the moon.  “No!  I just- I need something to shave with, I didn’t bring a bar of soap.”

“Who shaves with a bar of soap?”

“Look, my bottle of body wash wasn’t going to fit into my purse, okay!?  Just- I don’t know, figure something out!”

“Ugh, _fine_.”  Honestly, sometimes her twin was so overdramatic.  Definitely the most dramatic twin, because there was absolutely no time ever in history _ever_ where something ridiculous happened that left her freaking out in a bathroom.  Ahem.  Ever.

Patsy sauntered over to the counter where Bobby was sitting and pressed on the button of the soap dispenser with smug confidence.  Stupid Blobby, freaking out when the solution was right there in front of her.

Except no soap came out.

She pressed the button again.

Still nothing.

And again.

More nothing.

“Come onnnnn,” she whined, hitting the button repeatedly while Bobby buried her face in her hands.

“Do you seriously think I didn’t try that?!  Why do you think I had to text you in the first place!?”

“I don’t know!  I thought you were in here shitting your pants or something!”

“I can’t shit my pants Pastey, I’M NOT EVEN WEARING PANTS!”

“IT’S JUST AN EXPRESSION OKAY?! GOD!”  Picking up on the contagious edges of her twin’s meltdown, Patsy stormed into a stall, flinging the door open with a crash.

“What the hell are you doing now?!”

“I don’t know, maybe there’s something in here we could use!”

“Are you serious?!  GET OUT OF THERE!”

“OKAY SHIT KEEP YOUR PANTS ON I’LL THINK OF SOMETHING.”

“I’M NOT WEARING ANY PANTS!”

“IT’S JUST AN EXPRESSION!  Just- shut up for a minute so I can think!”

There had to be a solution here.  What did people shave their legs with, anyway?  Shaving cream was obviously out, this was a pasta restaurant, not a barber shop.  Lotion?  She didn’t see any on the counter, and of course _she_ wouldn’t have any in her purse - the only thing she’d packed was her wallet, her cell phone and some condoms.

Giggity.

 _Shut up, brain._ Clearly way too much with the watching TV lately, but that didn’t diminish in the slightest the fact that there was, indeed, no lotion.  Why the hell couldn’t this be one of those fancy (fancier) restaurants with lotion dispensers in the bathrooms so the patrons would have nice hydrated hands while they forked over wads of cash?!  And what the hell, La Pasteria, how could there be no soap?  That was just gross.

Maybe she could steal some butter or olive oil out of the kitchen.  What could possibly go wrong there?  Not to mention the mental image of her twin rubbing a handful of lard on her stubbly legs would give her something to giggle about for the rest of time.

But then how would they get it all off afterwards if there was no soap?  No, no, clearly that wasn’t going to work.

There was nothing for it.  She was going to have to brave the men’s room.

“Stay there and don’t drown,” she ordered her hyperventilating sister, whose toes were probably starting to prune.  “I’m going in.”

“What?”

“I said I’M GOING-  never mind Blobby, I’ll be right back!”

She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her.  Or tried to anyway.  The piston thing on the top of the door that made it close softly just whistled away, shutting the door with a quiet click.  Patsy flattened herself against it like she was sneaking around the mansion of an evil villain in a Bond movie.  To the left - a side table with an overly large potted plant.  To the right - a short segment of hallway and the dining room.

The coast was clear.

Probably.

It still took her a good three seconds to cross the hall and kick in the door to the men’s bathroom.  Mostly because of that damn slow-close piston thing that made it sort of hard to actually kick- anyway.  Patsy stormed in, eyes focused, on a mission for soap or death, barging straight past a confused looking man in a server’s uniform and a similarly confused (and also incredibly dismayed) Cullen, who lurched awkwardly against the urinal he was using like he was trying to climb inside it.

“Patsy, what-?!”

“Don’t look at me,” she ordered, filling one hand to capacity with white foamy soapsuds, and hitting the dispenser button with her elbow in order to fill the other.  “Go about your business.  Figuratively.  Literally.  I don’t know.”  She struggled with the door, finally managing to wedge it open with her foot and a shoulder.  “I was never here.”

The door closed before he could agree to never speak of this.

The things she did for her twin, honestly.  And HE better appreciate it, whether he knew it or not, because he was the one who hopefully would be getting to feel up her sister’s freshly shaven legs at the end of the night, provided no one was poisoned by overpriced wine and/or slipped and fell to their deaths in the bathroom because of this trail of soap she was leaving on the floor.

Oh well.  Sacrifices must be made.  She pushed back into the ladies’ room where Bobby was still sitting in the sink with her head in her hands like a sad pink ballerina, and practically threw the soap at her before it could drip on the black skinny jeans she’d stolen out of the back of Bobby’s closet.  She hadn’t rearranged all of her organs just to ruin these pants now.   _Fenris better appreciate this!_  Honestly all of them were going to owe her so much, whether they realized it or not.

“Let’s do this,” she said, and just sort of splattered the soap on her sister’s legs.  Bobby was apparently so relieved she hadn’t come back with tartar sauce or baby wipes or whatever that she didn’t even question where these magical handfuls of soap had come from, just accepting that they had materialized to save the day.  Real heroes always were left unsung.

“I will pay for your coffee for a week.”

Unsung, but not unpaid.  Cha-ching.

“Just help me drink that shitty wine I ordered, it’s god awful.”

“Then why did you order it?”

“Because I _thought_ this was a proper restaurant, not a gateway into the unwashed hands of hell.”

“Well, you picked it.”

“Excuse me, _technically-_ Oh never mind.  Shut up Cinderella, just shave your damn legs so I can get back to my hot date before midnight.”

Bobby muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _dick on leg_ , but as Patsy was a kind and generous soul she elected to ignore it, instead riffling shamelessly through her sister’s purse for the lipstick she’d shoved in there.  And also stolen out of her makeup drawer.  Like she was actually going to buy her own - not when there was a carbon copy of herself walking around who had the patience to match her skin tone to the actual proper foundation.

There, maximum level of hotness resumed.  She pushed up the chicken cutlets stuffed into her bra for good measure, wincing with alarm at the _rrrriippppp_ sound made when the double sided boob tape probably tore off a chunk of her left breast.

Uncool, boob tape!  There really wasn’t much there to begin with!  Rude.

Bobby shoved her feet into her shoes, swung her legs out of the sink, and immediately almost fell, slipping on one of the many puddles of soap Patsy tracked in from the men’s room.  She must still be riding high on a wave of panic because she didn’t even scream, just stomped over to the automatic hand drier mounted to the wall and stuck one leg under the stream of hot air.  Her sister was going to have the worst dry skin in history, but as  long as it didn’t set in until after whatever the hell she was planning to do with Cullen tonight, Patsy supposed it didn’t matter.  Eyes on the prize.

She elected not to tell her sister that she’d witnessed her potential boyfriend peeing.  Let them never speak of this again.

 ** _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICH_** her phone screamed from the back pocket of her jeans (wedging it in there had been quite a feat - she was pretty sure the thing was now bent into the shape of her ass).

 

 **Fenris:** RU dead?

 **Patsy:** Mischief managed

 **Fenris:** ?????

Really?  God, this boy.

 **Patsy:**  Out in 2


	24. Descent Into Dating Hell: Part 3 (slightly nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating is a heavy risk, but the priiiiiize.

“You can do this,” her reflection insisted as Bobby straightened her dress, brushed back her hair and put on some fresh lipgloss.  “Everything is okay.  Eeeeeverything is o-kay.”

Patsy preceded her out to the dining room, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts and attempt to resume normalcy now that the hurricane of shaving-related emotions had dissipated, along with most of the bubbles in the soap Patsy had dribbled all over the floor.

God, what a nightmare.  She should know better by now than to try and trick herself out of things she wanted.  The last time this happened, she’d accidentally locked herself out of her apartment over a three-day weekend and had to spend the holiday with her mother.  Never again.

She beat the server to the table by a matter of seconds, sliding into her chair as he went around the table with plates of food, too quick for Cullen to have a chance to get up and pull it out again for her, or something else incredibly ridiculously perfect.  She was honestly a bit afraid to make eye contact, cringing at the thought of explaining anything ever to anyone, but Fenris was the one who ended up staring at her across the table.

 _Finally,_ his eyebrows said, pulling darkly downward and in toward one another.  The left one lifted slightly.   _You good?_

 _Totally fine now,_ a nod of her head reassured.   _Totally handled the entire incident like a pro and nothing happened that we ever need to talk about ever because I’m great at dating and was absolutely not sitting in the bathroom sink yelling at my sister five minutes prior to showing back up at the table with no explanation._

Fenris crinkled his brow.   _What?_

Bobby sighed.   _Nevermind, just eat your pasta._

Fenris shrugged and went back to poking dubiously at these squishy round shapes on his plate that she belatedly realized were scallops.  She couldn’t even remember what she’d ordered, which was probably because she didn’t think canneloni was supposed to look like this.  Across the table Patsy’s pizza seemed to be smoking slightly around the edges; the only person who might be safe was Cullen and his oily pasta.

Which she was pretty sure he ordered without garlic because he thought they might be kissing later.

Which maybe she should have thought of also when ordering, but at least the whole unshaven leg situation was now managed and she could go about the rest of dinner in peace, daydreaming about Cullen’s hand on her thigh.

Patsy seemed to be have similar thoughts about Fenris, because she hadn’t even looked at her plate while trying to reestablish subtle full body contact under the dinner table.

“So… how did you guys pick this restaurant?” Fenris asked, seeming unwilling to dig into his food.  His voice sounded somehow off and Bobby realized that he was slurring slightly, the bottle of wine he’d ordered empty on the edge of the table.

Crap, they hadn’t been gone that long.  Had they?  Maybe they had.  Subtle threads of panic were starting to weave their way back into her mind, but fortunately her sister piped up, dabbing her extremely greasy-looking pizza with a handful of napkins, and seeming none the wiser.  “We used Bobby’s D20 app to pick a restaurant off IAmStarving.”

“That’s good, that’s very.” He distinctly did _not_ hiccup.  “...What’s a D20?”

“It’s a 20-sided die used in tabletop role playing games,” Cullen answered automatically, and took a bite of his pasta, smiling at Bobby when she glanced at him in surprise.

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Patsy awarded, and Cullen laughed.

Fenris didn’t, glaring openly at Cullen like he was going to smite him across the table - though if anyone was a paladin it was Cullen, and Fenris probably didn’t know what that was anyway.  Patsy was certainly going to have her work cut out for her if she ever wanted to engage her boyfriend in discussions about anything other than coffee.

Dinner passed without any other emergencies of a shaving and/or wine related nature, though she did have to agree with Patsy - what they ordered was pretty shit.  Bobby didn’t know a great deal about wine, but she was pretty sure the smell of it wasn’t supposed to burn the insides of your nostrils.  This was the last time she ever visited somewhere on IAmStarving that didn’t already have a boatload of reviews, though she supposed it was still her fault for being so set against going anywhere she’d been taken on one of her mother’s terrible blind dates.

Oh well, as long as no one died of food poisoning, she was just going to keep all of that to herself.

“I’ve got this,” she said when the waiter dropped off the check, pulling it out from under Cullen’s hand when he automatically reached for it, only giving it a cursory glance before slipping her credit card in and practically throwing it like a frisbee at the next passing server before anyone could question her.

Who was she kidding, Patsy would never question free food, and from the expression on Fenris’ face his dish looked at least 5% less disgusting, though most of it was still sitting on his plate.  Really it was just Cullen she was avoiding for the moment, and she couldn’t have them all out of there fast enough, jumping at the chance to get them out the door when he suggested they take a walk along the old harbor.

Patsy, who had somehow managed to shove an entire pizza into her face, of course groaned, but apparently any tight-pants-related discomfort was worth powering through if it meant she got to hold Fenris’ hand.

Which she did.

With witnesses and everything.

Not that she should be surprised honestly, given that they didn’t seem to mind having witnesses for practically everything anyway.  If they tried to walk in a group, she would probably just end up having to watch them make out on a park bench or up against a tree, and really after the whole heavy petting session during the Star Wars marathon she’d seen enough of that to last the rest of her lifetime.

Naturally the two of them fell immediately behind, less interested in getting a breath of fresh air than in doing god knows what, probably in a public fountain.  

Ugh, oh well.  Cullen was waiting for her with his hands in his pockets.  The quizzical expression from earlier had diminished, replaced with something nervous that she somehow found charming because apparently she was incredibly susceptible to that cute little line that formed between his brows that still, despite much effort, made her think of a golden retriever.  She was the worst.

She fell into step beside him - or rather, he fell into step beside _her_ , what with his legs being so much longer than hers.  It was probably incredibly annoying to have to move at that pace, but he didn’t say anything, walking along beside her in slightly-tense silence now that they were almost, sort of, alone.

“It’s a nice night for an evening,” he offered, sounding a bit desperate.  Bobby stared at him and then burst out laughing, so wrapped up in also desperately trying to figure out something to say that she forgot she probably shouldn’t.

Cullen wrinkled his nose, ducking his head.  “That was painfully stupid.”

“Not stupid at all,” Bobby tried to reassure, though with dubious success because she couldn’t stop giggling.  Giving up on relying on actual verbal communication (when did that ever work out for her anyway), she stepped in and linked her arm through Cullen’s.  “It’s cute.”

“Lucky for me, you have dubious taste.”

“Excuse you!”

He looked down at her and smiled that slow, soft smile of his, which of course made her turn bright pink and excessively grateful for all the shadows.

The sea breeze was chilly on her freshly shaven legs and her arm was warm where it was tucked against his side, so she squeezed in a little closer - just for warmth, of course, and not because she had any ulterior motives about luring him into her apartment and tearing off all his clothes.

 _Good lord Bobby, calm down,_ her responsible inner voice said. _Your flat looks like a closet threw up everywhere anyway._

Ah, right.  Unfortunate.

Stupid inner voice, should have told her not to leave the house without shaving her legs in the first place!

“Would you like my jacket?”  Cullen asked, interrupting the cat fight escalating in her mind.

“I don’t want you to be cold,” she said instead of _yes_.

Not at all discouraged, he stopped and shrugged out of his jacket, settling its warm gray weight over her shoulders.  “Shame to cover up that dress.”

 _DO NOT SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT BEING ON HIS FLOOR_ , her internal good sense screamed, beating out the section of her brain responsible for snappy comebacks by half a second.

“Glad you like it,” she managed, the words squeaking out around the edges of half a dozen bad pickup lines that wanted to burst free of her mouth.  

Cullen didn’t seem to notice, immune to the metaphysical waves of her distress, reaching up with exaggerated slowness to brush the backs of his warm fingers against her cool cheek.  The butterflies in her stomach exploded into a holiday parade combined with a blaring rock concert, popping wheelies on tiny motorbikes and ziplining up and down her spine.  

 _Kiss me,_ she thought, trying to launch the idea into his brain like missiles from her eyes.   _Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

 

* * *

 

He should have kissed her.  He realized it a beat too late, when they’d been standing there staring at each other for an overly long moment, his hand against her face.

 _Smooth, Rutherford,_ he disparaged, dropping his hand back down to his side where it curled and uncurled in the cold air.  She was just so _soft_.  And _pretty_.  And - _little_.  Just in comparison to him specifically, not like in general or in a weird way, or - yep, that thought had gone to kind of a bizarre place of awkward self-justification, and if he could just _not-_ anyway.

He’d probably better just go back to pointlessly dwelling on how he was going to deal with the probably-wilted bouquet of roses in his backseat on the occasion that Bobby asked him to drive her home.  That’s what he got for trying to court the romantic whims of a skittish twenty-four year old who wore distracting pink dresses and always smelled like cookies.

Oh good, that sounded overly critical, oddly specific _and_ depressingly ancient, especially considering how he knew she didn’t care at all about the difference in their ages.  He was still mulling over her comment about his calming influence, curious as ever about what went on in her mind when they were together, what she saw when she looked at him.

“This was okay, right? Tonight?”  Bobby blurted suddenly, slicing into the silence as they walked along beneath the streetlamps.  She looked troubled, fingers curling into the lapels of his too-large jacket.  “I know the whole ‘double date’ thing was sort of awkward and the food really wasn’t that good and the service took _forever_ and-”

“Bobby, it was fine.  It was great!” Cullen exclaimed, too brightly to be real, making her turn and look at him with skeptical, narrowed eyes.  He coughed.  “You know, I don’t really- date.  Much.  I mean, it’s been a while.  The point is-” He stopped and cleared his throat, catching himself before he once again started yanking at the much abused knot of his tie.  “The point is, I’m glad you decided to give this a chance.”

He said _this_ and meant _me_ and they both knew it, but neither one of them would say.  

“Oh well, you never know until you try.” That sounded more flippant than what he was expecting, and when he chanced a glance in her direction, she looked pained. “I’m sorry Cullen, I don’t mean- sometimes I say the stupidest things.”

He didn’t immediately answer, turning his words and hers over in his head.  “I get that maybe I’m a bit different than the people you’d normally see,” he started slowly, eventually, not quite meeting her eyes when she looked over.  “But I want to be clear that I’m not, ah, expecting.  Anything.  I’m not going to try to make this really serious if that’s not something you want.”

She gave a little laugh, quietly, under her breath, that he was sure he wasn’t meant to hear.  “What do _you_ want?”

“To spend time with you,” he answered simply, like he’d already had most of this conversation out in his head.  Which was accurate.  “And just for you to be honest with me.  No pressure, or expectations, or- ah, I think I said that part already.”

“You sound like you’ve thought a lot about this.”

“Well,” he shrugged.  “You’re worth considering.”

That made her stop in her tracks, standing there staring at him when he turned around like she wasn’t sure how she ought to respond.  He’d been expecting her to laugh like always, but she didn’t, peering up at him with dark, curious eyes as though he’d said something in a language she didn’t understand.

It made his face flush with heat, groaning internally as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “That’s cheesy, isn’t it.”

“No.  Yes.  A little.”

“I still mean it.”

“I know you do.”

His smile was self-deprecating.  “Too predictable?”

“If just saying what you mean makes you predictable.  That’s a skill I wouldn’t mind having.”  

Despite his jacket she still looked cold, and he reached out to close the short distance between them, settling his hands on her shoulders.  “Then tell me something you really mean.  Right now, doesn’t matter what it is.”

Bobby looked startled at the request, staring up at him with slightly narrowed eyes, searching his face.  He was about to tell her that there was no right answer when she broke into a smile, her shoulders vibrating under his hands with laughter.

“What is it?”

“I was trying to think of way to politely say that I’d really like to see you without a shirt on, but I couldn’t come up with one.”

His jaw dropped.  The longer he looked at her the wider she grinned until they were both laughing, the seriousness of a moment before dissipating into the night air.  Bobby made a contented little humming noise and leaned against his side, and he - very slowly, very carefully - put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze.

“Can I offer you a ride home instead?”

“Is that my consolation prize?”

“Can’t win if you don’t play,” was his droll reply.  As soon as the words were out, he wanted to beat a fist into his forehead.   _God, WHY would you- ugh._  “That sounded better in my head.”

Bobby just laughed and slid her arm around his waist.  “Challenge accepted, Mr. Rutherford.  I’d _love_ for you to take me home.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They had barely reached the promenade (for a _walk_ \- Cullen, really???), when Fenris slowed down until they fell back behind The Odd Couple. His grip on her hand tightened and he leaned closer to hopefully whisper dirty things into her ear.

“Let’s go to my flat, I’ve got something to give you.”

Patsy’s eyebrows flew off her face and disintegrated into the night sky. Straight to the point, nice!

"Well, I’m ready to get it.”

She tried to give him a flirty wink, but it probably ended up looking more like nervous twitching rather than flirty. Nevertheless, Fenris caught her meaning and tried to hide a chuckle, albeit badly.

“That’s not what I meant, I actually have a gift, sort of, for you. But I will not be opposed to the giving of other things...” Here he coughed, obviously trying to think of how to phrase this best. Better help him out.

“Like orgasms.”

“That is… well, an accurate word choice, I cannot disagree.”

His hands pulled her closer by her hips and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, before beginning to kiss her in earnest. Probably in an attempt to stop her ruining the moment with her lack of subtlety. Kissing was very nice, very, _very_ nice, but subtlety was severely overrated. Patsy pulled back a bit and grinned at his slightly confused face.

“Since we’ve already established that we both want orgasms in our near future, preferably plenty of them, shall we go? Take a taxi? Bus? Where do you live?”

Fenris laughed. A snort-laugh. Fenris did an _actual_ snort-laugh. There was _snorting_ and _laughing_. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever witnessed and just like earlier in the restaurant, she could do nothing but stare at him in awe. How could an already hot and gorgeous person be elevated to a hotness level of over 9000 by simply snortling. If that was the right word. Was it a word? _WHO CARES!_ She grabbed him by his collar and pulled him close, smashing her lips to his because what else was she supposed to do when there was nothing in her head but the kind of music with an ethereal female voice they used in all sorts of historical and fantasy movies.

This time it was Fenris who pulled back after briefly indulging in the kiss.

“Let’s go then, I’m sure Bobby and Cullen would appreciate it if we didn’t start the… _giving_ of _things_ right here.”

Well, sure, if he wanted to be _reasonable_.

“Ok, bye!”, she said in the general direction of Bobby and Cullen, who were busy staring at each other and probably reciting Jane Austen or whatever, and dragged Fenris behind her away from the Promenade. “Where to? Taxi stand?”

“We don’t need to take a taxi, I live in walking distance.”

 

* * *

 

Technically, yes, walking distance could mean a lot of things. But to Patsy it meant a walk of 5, maybe 10, 15 minutes tops. For some people, it was going from the Shire all the way to Mount Doom. While it was nice to walk hand in hand for a while, she really hoped Fenris wasn’t on a quest of that magnitude. Unlike Sam, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to carry him. Drag him along by his feet maybe, if the situation was very dire. Though Gollum would probably just kill her first. Or she’d succumb to the lure of the ring, following it into the fires of a volcano. Better not take her along as a companion in the first place. She was more of a Merry than a Sam anyway.

_No, Patsy, you’re a Pippin, don’t lie to yourself. You’re movie Pippin, making Gandalf grumpy one fuckup at a time. Does that mean that Bobby is Merry?_

“Pfft, she wishes.”

“Who is wishing for what?”

Fenris’ bemused voice cut into her thoughts and she glanced up at him and smirked.

“So, Fenris, which Lord of the Rings character would you be?”

Whyyyyy was this her idea of small talk - a late-night Quizilla revival. Immediately her mind jumped on the image of Fenris taking one of those Quizzes, like “What fancy coffee drink are you?” and then getting “Caramel Crunch Nut Frappuccino With Extra Cream And Caramel” and then getting really mad, because he was _clearly_ an Espresso, or at the least a very well made Cappuccino. It was very hard not to burst into laughter and she tried to focus on Fenris to take her mind off what was going on in her mind. Fenris seemed to be thinking very hard about his answer. Because of course he was.

“That is actually a very intriguing question.” _Was it?_ Oh well, they’d already discussed in detail how shitty the restaurant was, time for a change in topic. “I assume we’re just talking about the trilogy here and not works like _The Silmarillion_ , which does narrow down the possibilities somewhat.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Is it alright if I get back to you on this? This is an answer that requires some consideration, I think.”

“Oh, take all the time you need!”

What the fuck? Fenris was a Tolkien nerd. Who’d have thought? Yes, that was hot but it also required her to think of a different topic once again. Apart from ‘how much fucking longer are we going to have to walk, these pants are really not made for walking after a eating an entire pizza and drinking all that shitty wine’.

“An easier question then: What kind of hot beverage would you be?”

They decided that Fenris was a Double Espresso (“Double the hotness!” which had earned her a chuckle and then a few minutes of frantic making out against a house wall) and Patsy a Dark Chocolate Mocha (“Just sweet enough and always worth it,” which had earned Fenris about twenty seconds of uninterrupted eye contact during which Patsy tried to sort through a confusing amount of _feelings_ and sexual attraction. Followed by more making out against houses that were still, alas, not Fenris’.)

Due to the nature of their conversation technique (Quizilla-type questions being deliberately answered with increasing amounts of come-ons and sexual innuendo, followed by some snogging or at least some butt grabbing), the rate of their advancement towards Fenris’ flat and as such a surface they could fuck on or against had slowed down even more. Patsy had lost all sense of time and space. Were they even still in Kirkwall? (“Is that the Mall?” - “Uh, I guess so.” - “We’re passing the Mall? And you said you live in walking distance?” - “So, what’s your favourite… ah, Pokeman?” - “Don’t try to dis-... it’s _Pokémon_ and my fave is Gengar.”) Was this all just a dream? Did she slip and fall in the bathroom, hit her head on the sink and was now in a coma, while Bobby tried to operate on her with things she found in the ladies room? Very likely.

“Fenris.”

“Mhm?”  
  
His voice was distractingly close to her ear, though not as distracting as his hand under her shirt, resting so high up on her hip that it was almost inching into dangerous fake-boob-territory. It had definitely invaded squished-up-belly-fat territory, but there was nothing she could do about that now. If he didn’t mind, then she didn’t either.

“I don’t want to be whiny and this walk has been quite enjoyable so far…”

“Mhmmm…” Fenris’ hand pressed her closer to his side and his lips closed around her earlobe. _Oh._

“I’m really, really looking forward to the end of this journey though.”

“Me too,” he somehow managed to say while nibbling on her ear.

“I mean, we’ve been walking _forever_. My feet hurt.” And these pants were too tight and she longed to take them off and be naked together with Fenris. “Where the fuck do you live?”

“The house over there with the green door.” Which was about 10 feet from where they were standing. She was pretty sure he was trying not to laugh at her.

_Couldn’t you have waited just a few more seconds, Patsy?_

“Oh, well… what are we waiting for then?”

To climb - yes, _climb_ \- up to the fourth floor, apparently. Why. The things she suffered through to get laid, honestly.

 

* * *

 

Once they’d reached his flat, Patsy went straight towards his couch and plopped herself down, looking as exhausted as if he’d made her jog all the way. A quick look at his phone told him that it had taken them at least an hour to walk from the promenade to his flat. Oh, well… he was just going to attribute that to them stopping for make-outs in between. Surely the distance hadn’t actually been _that_ far...

He sat down as well, making sure that there was no space between their bodies, drawing her against him so he could immediately return to kissing her. Somehow, the long walk had done nothing to subdue his arousal.

“Wait.” Patsy pulled back and looked at him expectantly. Uh, should he offer her something to drink first? Did he _have_ something to drink? “You said you had a present for me, and this time I’m not talking about your dick or orgasms.”

Fenris chuckled and moved his hand up her thigh, his mouth going to her neck, so she’d feel his lips moving against her skin when he talked. “Why don’t we do that _later_ …”

“What, no, then I’ll be distracted thinking about what it could be the entire time!”

This woman… Fenris groaned and his forehead sank against her shoulder.

“The plastic bag on the bed.”

Without a second of consideration, Patsy pushed him off of her and bounced over to the bed, suddenly no sign of exhaustion anymore. Fenris groaned again as he leaned back on his couch, yet couldn’t help but smile at her excitement as she practically skipped back, bag in hand and stood in front of him, eyes shining brightly.

Confronted with so much unbridled joy, he could feel a trickle of doubt forming in the back of his mind. It was quite possible she didn’t actually like Spongebert that much. Or him trying to signal her that he was ‘over it’ and also ‘terribly sorry’ about the the whole incident would backfire and she’d instead be reminded of how much of an asshole he’d been that day. He fought hard against the instinct to rip the bag out of her hand and throw it out the window. Instead, he made an effort to look relaxed and confident in his life choices, as he watched her unwrap his present. Granted, unwrapping in this case meant taking it out of the plastic bag and realising what she held in her hands, but it still took her a while, even though the label clearly read “Shower Curtain, 180 cm x 200 cm, $13.99” in huge letters. Maybe he should have covered the price.

“Oh, _fuck!_ This is… oh fuck me!”

Patsy ripped open the packaging as eager as he imagined himself taking off her shirt in a little while. She unfolded the shower curtain and draped it around her like a cape, striking a superhero pose.

“This is awesome!”

“You… do know that that is a shower curtain, right?”

It’s not like he wanted to make sure that his Grand Gesture of Being Over It didn’t go unnoticed, but… yes, he was. Well, he figured risking his impossibly cool image once in awhile was alright if Patsy was the only witness. Sometimes you had to be willing to lose things in order to win the battle. Just as the Arl of… _I really need to stop doing this! Thinking of our romantic acquaintanceship as a battle is probably at the top of the list of things I’m doing wrong._

“Of course I know!” Patsy let the impromptu cape fall down to the floor and returned to his side. Her little smirk and the mischievous glint in her eyes made him optimistic that his gift had been well received.

“I really appreciate it.” One of her hands slid under his shirt and the muscles in his stomach tightened at the sudden heat of her skin on his. “Very much.” Her fingers inched ever closer to the waistband of his jeans and Fenris had to muster up all his willpower to stall her movement for just a little while longer. He had prepared words to accompany this gift and he needed to get them out now, before he got too distracted...

“I just wanted to say that I’m… very sorry, about being an ass. After… _you know._ ” He waved towards the crumpled heap of Spongebert on the floor and then cringed. This had sounded much better whenever he’d practiced it in his mind. Not that he had. Definitely not on multiple occasions.

“Well, you were naked, bleeding and confused.” Despite the slightly teasing tone of her voice, Patsy’s smile was warm as she looked at him. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I should probably put up warnings about the Hanna Solo toilet seat. She can be quite scary.”

“Still…”  There had been more to his apology, hadn’t there? However, he completely lost his train of thought as Patsy’s hand began wandering again. Change of strategy then. Now that the Shower Curtain of Death Incident had been successfully dealt with, there was nothing left standing in the way between them and fucking each other’s brains out. He sat up and in a clever ambush swiftly moved them until Patsy was lying down with her back against the armrest. He settled between her legs, grinning down at her.

“I’m rather fond of _Patsy_ Solo, though.”

That made her giggle, but with their bodies so close, he could see and _feel_ that her breathing had sped up to at least reaching-the-second-floor level. Every time she breathed in, her breasts were pressed against his chest and he could see her pulse hammering in her throat. He braced himself above her, settling his hips against hers with a subtle rocking motion that made her bite her lip, holding back a moan. This would not do. If this was a war then his plan of attack was clear to him now: Make her lose control.

Using a flanking maneuver, he tightened his hands on her hips, and Patsy gasped as he tugged her further down the couch with a sudden, decisive pull, the quick breathy sound intensely satisfying. He leaned down to bring his mouth to hers, stifling a soft moan with a kiss, enthralled by the way she shivered when his fingers crept further up her side, dancing over her warm, soft skin where the hem of her shirt rode up above the waistband of her jeans. Its fabric was smooth and slippery beneath his palm, guiding his hand toward the gentle swell of her breast. _Wait._ Something was weird. His thumb pressed against something squishy, but not quite boob-squishy. As he continued prodding her breast, Patsy laughed - or rather _cackled_ \- and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him upwards so she could sit up.

“I totally forgot about these, wait a second.”

Her hands began rummaging around inside of her bra and he looked on with astonishment as she pulled out two wobbly things and threw them on the floor. They continued wiggling for a while, looking like two chicken cutlets scared to go up on the chopping board. Before he had any time to process this visual, there was a loud _RIIIIIP_ and Patsy yelped; grabbing her boobs after flinging two strips of some kind of tape in the general direction of the chicken cutlets.

“Owwwww, fuck that hurt!”

“Are those…”

“Fake boobs, yes.” She frowned at them with disapproval, still massaging her (real) boobs. “Not worth it. Ow.”

“I knew something was different about them! _I knew it!_ ”

He might’ve made a fist and pumped it into the air. He might have. For a few tense moments, they just stared at each other, until Fenris slowly lowered his fist and tried to compose his face into a more _seductive_ expression. It seemed to be working, since Patsy immediately jumped up and began to take off her pants.

“While we’re busy throwing out our dignity, let me just get out of these. I mean, I’ll be naked sooner rather than later anyway and these are just _really_ tight.”

So much for his irresistible skills of seduction.

“And, oh… what the hell. Might as well.”

Her bra joined the growing pile of discarded things on his floor. Clad only in her knickers and her top, she moved until she stood between his legs, carrying a grin that brought plenty of ideas for how to regain any lost dignity to his mind. Eager to pursue the goal he’d set earlier, he reached for her hands and then pulled her forward until she hovered over him, knees resting on the couch between his thighs, arms around his neck, her face so close to his that he could feel her hot breath against his skin. Her nails dug into his back as he brushed his fingers up her arms, his touch so light that it raised goosebumps.  He continued teasing her; closed his teeth around her lip, flicked his tongue against hers, trailed his fingers down her back until she grew impatient and ground against him in a heated kiss.

He slipped his hands under her shirt, his touches gaining in intensity, and she mewled into his mouth as he grazed his nails up her sides. Fenris had _intended_ to keep things slow; to tease her until she plead for more, to indulge in making her want him, yet every moan, every sigh he coaxed out of her made him ache to bury himself in her, his cock hard without her even touching it. He struggled to ignore the slow slide of her tongue against his or how her tits pressed against his chest, heat coiling in his stomach and tried hard to focus on driving _her_ mad with pleasure. As he captured her breasts, thumbs stroking over hard nipples, she arched her back, her thighs pressing against his groin and he groaned loudly at the sudden pressure against his cock.

Patsy laughed against his lips and before he could regain composure, she opened his jeans, freed his cock and began stroking him.

“Fuck, that’s… _fuck_.” Fenris squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back, drawing in a shuddering breath. It felt so good, _so fucking good_. How was he supposed to ignore _that?_ While he fought with himself to not just give in to the pleasure and thrust into her hand, Patsy moved down his body until she was kneeling between his legs. _Shit._ Before he could pull her up again and get back on track with his plan, her mouth closed around the head of his cock and he was lost.

The slide of her tongue, the heat of her mouth, her breath against his sensitive skin, her hands, the vibrations of her moans… it was all too much, too good and he bit his fist, the sharp pain slightly parting the thick haze of lust clouding his mind. Fenris opened his eyes and looked down and oh, that was worse. Patsy locked eyes with him, her gaze dark and heated and to see his cock sliding in and out of her mouth was worse, so much worse, so much _better._ And yet some part of his brain was still too stubborn to admit defeat.

“If you keep this up… I’m going to…” He was panting hard and he had trouble forming actual words instead of moans. His message should be hard to misunderstand though.

Patsy’s lip let him go with an obscene sound and immediately he missed the wet heat but he could wait, he could…

“The night is still young.”

Her voice was rough and full of promise and as her mouth enveloped him once again, Fenris surrendered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen’s car smelled oddly like roses, and he held her hand all the way home.

Bobby toyed with his fingers in hers, tracing the creases in his palm, fingertips ghosting over blunt, short-cropped nails and those mysterious calluses that roughened his skin. She thought it might distract him, but he drove as steadily and carefully as ever, turning to look at her whenever they stopped at a red light, a faint smile on his mouth, the headlights of oncoming traffic burnishing his eyes a warm gold.

The drive was over far too quickly, economically retracing the familiar route back to her apartment, and she sighed inaudibly when he retrieved his hand from her grasp to pull the car into park.  She held her breath for a brief moment as he clearly deliberated, finally reaching up to turn the key and cut the engine, leaving them to sit in silence.

“I had a really nice time,” he said, turning slightly toward her in his seat.

“Get out,” she said automatically, but without any of the exasperation she’d felt the last time they’d found themselves in this position.  There was humor in it when she rolled her eyes, reaching for the door, but she stopped when his hand lifted again to her cheek.  Those damn traitor butterflies rioted in her stomach as he slowly, deliberately stroked his long fingers back to tuck her loose hair behind her ear.

“I mean that, Bobby.”

“I know you do.”  The words came out all whispering strange, nervous anticipation stealing the even keel of her voice.

The only part of him that moved was his thumb, his palm warm and steady against her jaw as it traced the curve of her cheekbone.  Heat bloomed beneath her skin in its wake.  On any other day she would have cringed at the trashy romance trope-ish-ness of it all, but in this moment she just wanted - just _wanted -_ and when his touch dipped toward the edge of her mouth, she turned her head and parted her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb.

When it came to seduction Bobby was no Isabela (who was, honestly?  She only had about half the boobs she needed to even be considered a contender), but she figured she could hold her own.  She’d had her fair share of physical encounters, of hook-ups and kisses-on-a-whim, but she didn’t think she’d ever experienced anything quite so gratifying as the quick, sharp sound of his intaken breath, or the sudden shivering tension in his arm.

That was such a dangerous thought, and this was probably going to end badly whenever it did end, but she didn’t want to think about that and she didn’t want to stop.  When he didn’t move or make to draw his hand away, she let her lips make the decisions, sliding down along the heel of his hand to press another kiss to the center of his palm.

So innocent, that kiss, and so too the ones that followed, one hand curled quietly in her lap and the other around his wrist as her mouth moved along the underside of his middle finger.  She stole a glance at his face and was not disappointed; his chest rose and fell in silent, shallow breaths, straight white teeth buried in the edge of his lower lip.

The answering nip at the tip of his finger was less innocent.  Cullen made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Maker, Bobby-” he started, reaching for her on instinct and stopping, pulled up short by his seatbelt and the steering wheel.  

Rather than be deterred she met him halfway, leaning over the storage caddy between them to find the seatbelt release, freeing him with a click and a whir.  He caught her around the waist then, dragging her toward the center until all that kept them apart was the console.  Never had cup holders and a gear shift been more useless.  His hand travelled up from her shoulder and into her hair as his mouth moved along her cheek to her lips, and they crashed together, hard and sudden and shivering like plates within the earth straining to release a building tension.

The ground could be splitting open beneath them right now for all she knew.  She had a handful of gray fabric clenched in one fist, and she could feel his fingers curve around her side, moving upward along her ribs and then changing course, downward to tighten around her hip.  Just a little bit further, and-

There was no room to maneuver and his long arms weren’t doing him any favors; she thought he might actually pull her out of her seat and onto his lap, and _that_ would have been interesting, but he turned and accidentally jammed an elbow into the steering wheel, causing a loud honk to reverberate through the parking lot and making them both reel to a stop.

“Damn,” Cullen said, face as flushed as hers felt and tie askew.  “Sorry.”

Bobby pressed her lips together, feeling the remnants of her lipgloss.  The rest of it was probably all over his face.  Such a Patsy move honestly, but she couldn’t help but be a little bit pleased with herself, catching her breath as he ducked his head.  She mourned a little as he straightened, one hand slowly leaving her hip, catching the other in her own as it slid slowly down her arm.

He lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles like something out of a medieval romance.  “You are _so_ -” he started, and then stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t have the words.  “I should see you in.”

There was nothing she could do but acquiesce, taking a moment to collect herself, smoothing her hair and her skirt while he came around to open her door.  With the engine off the windows had fogged even in those brief moments, and the night air was sharp and chilly against her skin.  They stood together, so close she thought surely he would make a move - touch her, kiss her, push her up against the side of the car, anything - but all he did was replace his jacket around her shoulders.

“Miss Hawke.”

“Mr. Rutherford.”  

Her knees were so wobbly she wasn’t sure if she was going to make it down the sidewalk, so excruciatingly aware of his presence behind her as she fumbled with her keychain.  She struggled to get the key into the lock until his hand covered hers, sliding it home and unlatching the door with annoying ease, looking down at her with unveiled amusement as she turned to wrinkle her nose at him, back against the wall.

He left the door ajar and leaned in as though to kiss her one last time, his hands shaping her hips, warm through the fabric of her dress.  Her fingers lifted to catch the fraying knot of his tie, sliding down along its dangling length.  She could feel him holding his breath, chest tightening, eyes on her fingers.

“Come inside.”

He exhaled slowly, hesitating. “I shouldn’t.”

The material was slippery between her fingers, soft and slick and-

“I didn’t say _come up_ , I said come inside.”

She tilted her chin up, close and teasing on purpose, a smile on her lips.  Cullen looked at her as though he knew exactly what she was doing and what poor choices he was about to make, bracing one forearm against the wall above her head.

“Just for a moment?”  He offered, clearly weakening.

“Just for a moment.”

He held the door for her and she backed into the stairwell, his tie caught between her fingers.  He followed after, allowing himself to be pulled inexorably inward until the middle of her back butted up against the cold metal handrail on the wall leading up the stairs.  It still felt like being pursued, his one step forward for each of her steps back, and when she came to a stop he kept moving, caging her against the wall with his hips and hands.

She wound his tie around her fist, pulling him down, in, closer, and gasped out loud when he picked her up off the floor, settling her legs around his waist and the edge of her rear on the banister, holding her aloft like she weighed nothing.  She abandoned his tie to flatten her hands against the muscle of his chest, feeling the hard flex of his abdominals as he leaned to kiss her again.

The kiss was no less intense for all that it was less frantic.  They were so much closer and he held her so tightly, pressing her against his body with a hand between the small of her back and the wall, another sliding up her thigh.  When the lacy fabric of her skirt rose with it, he moved to smooth it back down and she stopped him, pulling the material up beneath his hand until his palm was flat against the outside of her knee.

He let her do it, the point of his tongue flicking out to moisten his lower lip as his fingers slid upward, the pad of his thumb skimming against her skin, and then back down again toward her knee, not daring to climb as high as she’d let him.  When his eyes met hers again in the half-dark he looked almost pained, eyes crinkling in the corners with a rueful smile she’d never seen before.

Cullen left his hand where it lie, leaning in to lightly rest his forehead against hers. “You’re going to get me into trouble, Bobby Hawke.”

The urge to smile was irrepressible. “I aim to misbehave.”

Predictably he groaned, turning his head to kiss her cheek and the hinge of her jaw.  “That is hot on a multitude of levels.”

“I also aim to please?” she suggested, tipping her head back and allowing him to continue doing what he was doing to her neck, the stubble on his jaw and chin rasping over her skin and making her shiver.  “I didn’t mean what I said earlier.”

“What’s that?”

“That you shouldn’t come up.  You should definitely come up.”

She could feel him smile against her collarbone and sighed when he raised his head, lifting both of her arms to loop loosely around his neck as he held her.  The hand on her thigh slid away to smooth down her dress again, seeking safer territory at her hip.  “I want to.”

“But you won’t.”

He shook his head.  “Not this time.  You’re not too disappointed?” he hazarded hopefully when she didn’t say anything in return, leaning to press his lips to her wrist when one of her hands left its perch and smoothed his ruffled hair.

“Of course not,” she reassured, and was rewarded with another kiss before he gently let her down, his hands lingering long after she’d found her footing.

It was hard not to want to climb him like a tree, to pull him down and get him to kiss her again. She didn’t even think it would be that much of a challenge, but rather than give into the urge she took a moment to rebutton his shirt, to straighten his tie where she’d pulled it askew, and retrieved her right shoe from where it had fallen from her foot in the midst of everything.  Cullen didn’t bother to tuck his rumpled shirt back in, just bent to pick his jacket up off the floor where it had evidently been tossed aside.  She couldn’t even remember when that had happened and didn’t really care, content to watch his strong body move as he shrugged it back on, seeming younger when a bit mussed and with a smile on his face.

“I had fun tonight,” he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb, obviously reticent to leave even though he’d already declined to stay.

“I’m glad,” she said, and really meant it.  All the earlier drama, the doubts, the shitty food and the awkward moments - totally worth it.  She still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.

At least shaving her legs hadn’t been all for nothing.

“Drive safely, okay?” she said softly, mostly just to be able to say something when he finally pulled away.

“I will.  Sleep well.”

“You know it.”  Her grin was all mischief, looking back at him over one shoulder as he leaned against the door, watching her walk up the stairs.

She could hear his low laugh echo even as she disappeared around the corner.

 


	25. Patsy vs. The Saddest Place in Thedas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do people have a sensible discussion about their relationship? You won't find out in this chapter.

“Shitty balls.”

Patsy had transformed into a panda overnight. Her mascara and eyeliner had attempted escape and had run away together down her face, not bothering to hide the evidence. Naturally, she was standing in the emptiest bathroom she’d ever seen. A sad toothbrush looked up at her from the sink, begging to be replaced and be freed from the companionship of a squeezed-to-death toothpaste. There was a bar of soap as well, or at least she assumed it once had been a “bar” of soap. All that was left now were two broken pieces of a soap-ish substance in the most unappealing shade of puke.

Patsy looked at her panda face again and sighed. She really didn’t want to subject him to this view as the first thing he saw after waking up from the well-deserved sleep of someone who’d fucked her so _thoroughly_ last night. Her mirror image clearly showed proof of that on her throat and she suspected lower down her body as well, hidden now by Fenris’ shirt she’d picked up from the floor. Her butt was also sore and hurt a bit when she walked, but she supposed that was because they fell off the couch at one point. About 85% of the reason, anyway. Poor Spongebert, the things he’d seen… Ugh, probably nothing as horrible as her face right now, though.

Alright, if she could find her sister some shaving soap in a restaurant, she could clean her face in Fenris’ bathroom. The place where soap went to die, apparently. There were more questionably coloured lumps in his shower caddy, next to the most boring looking bottle of shampoo she’d ever seen. It was not-quite-white and only said “Shampoo, Normal Hair” in a font last popular in the 90s. And 90s only if she was being generous. Maybe it was retro. Maybe. _How does his hair stay so soft and grabbable?_

She crouched down to inspect the cabinet under the sink, groaning as the muscles in her legs and butt protested against the movement. _Worth it!_ She didn’t know what she’d expected to find in the cabinet, certainly not an overwhelming nothingness except for an electric razor and some shaving cream from the same brand as the shampoo. _Welp, shitty soap it is then!_

It took several cycles of “slather soap on face, scrub, wash face, rub towel over face rigorously” until she was convinced that most of the makeup was gone. Now her face was red and she smelled like whatever it was the fragrance of the shitty soap was. Hay and olives? Urgh. If there were more occasions for her to sleep at Fenris’ flat in her future - and things were looking good - she definitely needed to pack an overnight bag first. Maybe also bring her sketchbook because she really wanted to capture the softness of his face while he was sleeping. Was that creepy? Probably not any creepier than staring at him while sitting in The Brewmother, drawing his face without ever having talked to him. It’s not like she had about 10 pages at the end of her sketchbook filled with doodles of his face, nope.

He was just so beautiful and his face so incredibly expressive. Granted, while at work most of his expressions were those of chagrin and annoyance. And chagrined annoyance. But that only made those little smiles that found their way to his face even more breathtaking. _Fuck, Patsy, tone it down._ She shuddered and looked around, just to make sure nobody was here to witness her being a besotted fool. A completely smitten fool in love. _Wait, what? WHERE DID THAT THOUGHT COME FROM?_ _Danger! Danger! Abort! Abort!_ She shook her head to chase away the inappropriate sappiness, took one last look in the mirror, wiped off a stray bit of soap and then made her way back to the bed to snuggle up against Fenris until he woke up.

“Hey.”

His delicious voice greeted her as soon as she left the bathroom. This morning it was extra deep and combined with the view of him sitting in bed, the blanket pooling around his hips not doing too much to hide that he was naked, Patsy found herself contemplating whether she was fit enough for some early morning sex. Late morning. Midday sex. Whatever.

He was typing away on his phone while she climbed back into bed (or rather onto the mattress that he used as bed) and cozied up against him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He held up his hand.

“Just a moment.” More typing.

“What’s so important?” She tried to catch a glimpse at his screen, slightly miffed that he was capable of ignoring her. _Dude, I basically just peeled my skin off for you!_

“Writing a review on IAmStarving for La Pasteria. People need to be warned.”

Patsy bit her lip to suppress a laugh at the utter affront in his voice.

“You should add that the pizza was okay.”

Fenris looked at her, disbelief etched on his face.

“Okay? _Okay?_ I saw your pizza, it was oily and burned and _ugh_.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse.”

He stared at her for another moment, then shook his head and looked back at his phone.

“Don’t ever tell me about those pizzas.”

Patsy simply chuckled to herself and looked around the room while Fenris continued typing what she assumed to be a 5000 word thinkpiece about La Pasteria’s shortcomings. Apart from the mattress they were sitting on, his flat was barely furnished. A couch, a small kitchen table with a cactus and a very modest kitchen-corner (small fridge, two cooking plates, a coffee maker, one cabinet) was all she could make out. He didn’t even seem to have a real wardrobe, storing his clothes on a couple of wooden boards next to the bed. There was a lot of black. What his flat lacked in furniture, he’d made up for in books. On his side of the mattress they were stacked from the floor halfway up the wall for almost the entire length of the mattress. Most of them looked very thick and… very _boring_. Seriously, who wanted to read _An Elaborate History of Fereldan Cattle Law_? Certainly not Patsy.

The furious typing next to her finally stopped and she looked up to see him smiling at her as he put his arm around her shoulder.

“Morning.”

“Hi.” Patsy pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“So, this is your flat.”

Fenris’ affirmative rumble vibrated deep in his chest. Almost like a cat purring. A sexy cat with tattoos and… _Patsy, no._

“Did you just move here?”

“No, I’ve been living here ever since I came to Kirkwall in, uh… January?”

“Oh. So you’re just not a big fan of… furniture?” She peeked up at his face and saw him look around with a frown, as if he’d never even considered that maybe he could add to his frugal decor.

“Well… I don’t require anything else. And _uh_ … it… _mhm_ … keeps the mind clear.”

“My flat must be your personal nightmare then.” She bit her lip and cringed, thinking back at the mess they’d had to stumble through after the Star Wars marathon.

“No, not at all.” His voice was full of conviction, and he pulled her close, tightening his arm about her shoulders as if to emphasize his point. “It suits you.”

Patsy turned in his arms until she could look into his face without having to twist her neck around like the girl from The Exorcist. _Being able to do that would be kinda neat sometimes though, like I wouldn’t have to turn my entire body when I’m on my computer and Bobby thinks she has to keep talking to me. Though I guess demonic possession is kind of an annoying side effect._

“I’m glad to hear it.” She reached for his hand, ghosting her fingers over his in a way that she hoped was 80% romantic and 20% seductive, because she was trying to be sweet, but there was no ignoring that he was also extremely sexy.  “Because I’m definitely going to invite you up again.”

“And I’ll follow you there, gladly.”

Patsy couldn’t stop the stupid grin forming on her face and hid it against his neck. They sat in companionable silence, his skin warm where his hand rested on her shoulder, and beneath her fingertips as they traced the lines of swirling tattoos on his forearms.

“So, uhm… “Fenris awkwardly cleared his throat. “What about showing your flat to other people?”

_Wait, what?_

“What do you mean?” Her fingers stopped their lazy movements and she felt him tense up against  her.

“We’ve never established the degree of exclusivity of our… acquaintanceship.” Fenris cleared his throat again and his grip on her shoulder tightened.

What the fuck was this? Did he want to see other people? Was that what was happening? _Was_ he seeing other people? A familiar knot of panic began to form in her stomach, the one that was usually followed by alarmed wookie noises and… yep, there they were, slowly bubbling up her throat, burning on her tongue and waiting to be unleashed into Fenris’ ears. She kept her eyes fixed on his tattoos, desperately forcing herself to _not_ look into his face, afraid of what she would see there.

“Well, do _you_ want to-”

“Yes.”

“-meet other people?”  
  
“What?”

They blinked and blankly stared at one another.  Fenris moved them until they both sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. Despite a voice that sounded confusingly like Bobby yelling a constant _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH_ in her mind, Patsy still couldn’t help but notice how the blanket around Fenris’ hips moved and exposed part of his butt and they way it fell between his legs, there was a definite outline of his-

“Patsy.”

“Yes! I’m here.” Her eyes snapped up to his and her heart sped up at the worried frown on his face. Were they really about to _talk_ about like _feelings_ and _relationships_? This early? Shouldn’t they have coffee first? She was sure this was illegal, somehow. He seemed so serious. Was that good or bad?

“I don’t want to.”

“Talk?” A girl could dream.

“No.” His left eyebrow slightly twitched. “Meet other people.”

“Oh.” Good. That was good. That was… _Maker_ , she was incredibly relieved. Maybe there _was_ an upside to talking about things on occasion, though her heart was still beating painfully hard and why was Fenris looking at her like that, really intensely as if he was trying to detect the leftovers of his shitty soap on her face without leaning in closer. Oh. “Me neither.”

He didn't move for a long moment, which she found herself counting every dragging second of in silence.  Finally he exhaled, his rigid shoulders returning to their more relaxed, slouching position.

“So, that’s settled then.” She puffed up her cheeks, trying to think of something to say to move on from this moment and let the air out again as she noticed his grin.

“I apologise for broaching this topic in such manner. My initial choice of words may not have been the best.”

“You think?” Patsy snorted. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“I’m not used to having these sort of conversations.” He leaned in closer, the blanket moving again so that Patsy caught a glimpse of a dark dusting of hair and her fingers twitched because she just wanted to touch him, run her fingers down his chest and… His thumb brushed over her lower lip and she looked away from his crotch to find him smirking in a way that made clear he knew exactly where she’d been staring and what she’d been thinking. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Patsy didn’t bother with a reply and simply pulled him into a kiss, her hands quickly moving over his chest and down his stomach as if they’d been waiting for it. Fenris’ strong arms closed around her and he pressed her down until her back hit the mattress and Patsy eagerly spread her legs so he could settle between them. As his lips trailed a path from her jaw down her throat, Patsy was presented with a lovely view of Fenris’ back and, even lovelier, his naked butt.

The booty in clear sight, she extracted her arms from between their bodies and grabbed his ass without further ado. He groaned against her collarbone and bucked his hips, which was a _very_ nice feeling because there was only the thin fabric of her panties and his blanket separating them. Before she had another chance to express her admiration for his muscular backside via extensive groping, Fenris moved further down her body and there was no way she could get a hold of his butt now without acquiring the limb-stretching skills of Mr. Fantastic. That might ruin the mood though. _Or would it? Probably less than Exorcist Girl powers._

She was torn out of her fantasies of being able to make a cup of tea without ever having to leave her place in front of the computer, seriously stretchy arms would be _so convenient_ , as Fenris lifted her shirt (or _his_ shirt, to be more precise) and his tongue licked a line around her bellybutton. His fingertips were tracing the waistband of her knickers, his hot breath raised goosebumps on her skin and Patsy shivered in anticipation. Another thing communicated its excitement, namely her stomach which was growling with the force of an army of lions. Fenris looked up at her from between her legs, lips twitching and not in the “I’m gonna make you come so hard” way.

“Hungry?”

“It’s fine, just continue what you were doing!”

Sadly, as soon as she’d finished that sentence her stomach growled again and Fenris rolled over, then got up from the mattress and put on his boxers, chuckling to himself. Patsy could do nothing but watch with a sad face as the black fabric covered his beautiful behind. _Thanks for nothing, stomach!_ She groaned and reluctantly sat up again, leaning back against the wall as her eyes followed Fenris across the flat on his search for food. Which seemed to be harder than one would think. Apparently his cupboards were just as deserted as his bathroom. He finally turned around, a box of cereal in his hands.

“Is this alright? I don’t… have any milk though…”

“Just how I like ‘em!” Patsy patted the spot next to her and nestled against his side once he’d joined her again. “Lyrium Loops, yum!”

They both ate from the box in comfortable silence, Patsy’s mind still trying to process their earlier talk. _I guess we’re what the people call ‘going steady’ now. Do they call that? Or like he’s my boyfriend, or whatever. Labels are not important. I mean, we_ did _sorta decide to put a label on what we’re doing. An exclusive label. But it’s not important what’s actually written on the label. Ugh, I better not tell Bobby about this, she’d just yell at me. I wonder if she got laid last night… She better, after that bathroom meltdown. That would never happen to me, I really don’t know why it’s so difficult for those two to get their shit together. Maybe they need to do less talking and more smooching._

“Patsy.”

She shoved more cereal into her mouth and then looked up at Fenris. “Mhm?”

“I’ve been thinking about your question. The one about which _Lord of the Rings_ character I’d be.”

Patsy swallowed her Lyrium Loops and grinned.  Now _this_ was the kind of talking she could get behind.

“Tell me more.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	26. Bobby & Fenris vs. An Inconvenient Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby gets told; Fenris has to deal with an alarming reveal. There's a lot of yelling.

“And then I walk in, and she’s in the sink!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

_“No.”_

Patsy cackled and spun around in her chair.  “ _Yes!_  Only there’s no soap and Bobby is just _freaking out-”_

“Bobby does what now?” her twin’s cranky early-morning (well, to be fair, early-afternoon) voice crackled in on the line.  “I swear to god, if you’re-”

“Did you really shave your legs in the sink at La Pasteria?!” Steve blurted.

“-I will kill you.  PATSY!”

“Well it happened!”

“Well _yeah_ , but do you always need to tell everybody all the shitty, humiliating details?!  No offense, Steve.”

“None taken.”

She could hear Bobby sigh irritably, which she chose to take as a good sign.  “Seems like somebody’s still catching up on sleep.  I know _I_ need to.”  In fact, she and Fenris were up _all_ night, well into the early morning hours, and then some.  She had no idea how she’d managed to sleep so well in between all the bedroom gymnastics, though she would bet that it had something to do with the epic journey from Rivendell to Mordor that was the walk to Fenris’ flat from the Promenade.

She definitely insisted they take the bus to her house the next day when she invited him to stay over and he, surprisingly, said yes.

Two nights in a row!  Practically the whole weekend!  Patsy was so busy congratulating herself on the soreness in her legs (in more ways than one!) she missed Bobby’s reply, though no doubt it was something grouchy and in need of caffeine.

“So?! How did it go?!” she demanded, forgetting in her eagerness to pump her sister for details to pick a character off the multiplayer screen until Steve cleared his throat.

“It went okay.”

Patsy stopped.  “Okay?  Just _okay?_ ”

“Well, I mean, yeah.  Okay.”

“I stole soap out of the men’s bathroom for _okay?!”_

“You did?!”

“Shut up Steve,” Bobby muttered, her batarian character appearing with scowling face in the lineup of their Lobby.

“Yeah I did!” Patsy continued, undeterred.  “Since _somebody_ decided that using unshaven legs as birth control was a good idea.”

“PATSY!”  Bobby yelled.  “That is NOT-  Shit.  That’s not entirely what- I- Shut up, I hate you.”

She was grinning so hard her face hurt, practically able to hear her sister furiously counting down from ten in her head.  “So what happened, did you miss a spot?”  

“My life is not entirely devoted to fucking, I’ll have you know,” Bobby said in her waspy old-lady voice, the sound coming through her nose like she was choking on the pearls she was probably clutching around her throat.  “Unlike _some_ people.”

“Is it my fault if my sex life is worth being entirely devoted to?” Patsy asked innocently, sipping hot chocolate out of her Monkey Island cup, slurping up the bottom with a banana colored crazy straw.  “Nice dicks shouldn’t be neglected.”

“Ugh, Patsy-”

“And don’t even get me started on the rest of him!  Those abs, those eyes, those tattoos!”

“I think I need to take a shower.”  Steve coughed awkwardly.  “A cold shower.”

“Shut UP Steve!”  Bobby finally yelled, the counting obviously doing absolutely no good.  “Shut up EVERYONE!  Can we please just play this stupid game?!”

“You know, you really would be a lot less grumpy if you just-”

“Not paying attention anymore!”

“-that tie off him and just-”

“La La La, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

“-into your bedroom, and-”

“Good god.”

“Shut up Steve!  He’s just really nice, okay?!”

“Sorry.”

“He’s way too much of a gentleman,” Patsy concluded, evoking an irritable sigh from her sister.

“No he isn’t.”

“Is there really such a thing?” Steve asked, sounding concerned.

“Yes.”

“ _No,_ ” Bobby countered automatically.  “There isn’t. Don’t take advice from people who take three weeks to get a phone number.”

“Ruuuuuuude, Blobby.  At least my hard work is paying off!”

“You don’t even know if you’re technically dating!”

“MAYBE WE DON’T FEEL THE NEED TO PUT LABELS ON THINGS.”

“UNLESS IT’S EACH OTHER’S GENITALIA APPARENTLY!”

“And this is why I don’t date.”

There was a long pause.

“Well,” Steve amended.  “Also I haven’t really met anyone.”

“That’s because you’re on your computer seventeen hours a day trying to get top ranked in every match.”

“Aww…”

“Shut up, Pastey,” Bobby said, for the fiftieth time.  “I could probably find you a date, Steve.  There are like 600 numbers in my phone I don’t answer.”

“Maker, Bobby.”

“BLAME MOM OKAY.”

“Normally I would consider it,” Steve admitted.  “But they all kind of sound like dicks.”

“They are,” the twins confirmed in unison.

“Free food, though,” Bobby added thoughtfully.

“Anyway,” Steve coughed in the sudden, depression-tinged silence.  “So what actually happened?”

“Nosy much?”

“Inquiring minds need to know, Blobster!  Don’t leave us in suspense!”

“Nothing!  Nothing happened!  Well, not nothing, technically.  We ah- kissed.  A bit.”

“A bit?”

“Pastey…”

“Okay fine, “a bit.”  Then what?”

“Then I invited him up.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

Maker, getting information out of her sister was like trying to coax an eruption out of a volcano with a book of shitty bar matches.  “You.  Are.  Killing.  Me.”

“We didn’t sleep together, okay!?”  Her sister snapped.  “We didn’t fuck, we didn’t ‘do it’, we didn’t- some other horrible sex analogy that I can’t think of right this second, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!”

“But why?  Did you not want to?”

“I said I invited him up, didn’t I?”

“Well?”

“Well nothing, he said he wasn’t expecting anything, and nothing happened.  We kissed, it was nice, and that’s it.”

Patsy exhaled all in a rush.  “Maker, no wonder you’re bitchy, you probably wore out all the batteries in your apartment.”

“PATSY!”

“AM I WRONG?”

“What is-” Steve started.  “Ohhhh, you’re talking about vibrators again, aren’t you.”

“I can’t believe I spend my Sundays like this,” Bobby groaned.

“You’re right, it’s super sad.”

“You’re here too, Pastey.”

“But I’m not alone!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

It was impossible not to be smug.  “I’m pretty sure Spongebert is scarred for life.”

“What the hell is ‘Spongebert’?”

“Nevermind,” she said, immediately distracted by Fenris stepping out of her bedroom without a shirt.  He crossed over to stand behind her chair, leaning down to nibble at the side of her neck in a way that made her shiver and smother her mic with one hand.

“What’s going on?” He rumbled against her ear, nearly making her lose complete track of the conversation.

“Bobby’s losing it.”

“Again?”

Patsy rolled her eyes and nodded and then turned on her speakers so Fenris could listen to the conversation as well. It was rude to leave people out, and she had no respect for the privacy of yet another of her sister’s meltdowns. Which apparently Fenris was already familiar with anyway.

“He sounds kinda nice though?”  Steve interjected randomly, clearly more invested in Bobby’s love life than Bobby seemed to be.

(“Cullen?”  Patsy nodded.)

“Yes.”

“And you had a nice time together?”

“Yeeeees…” Bobby hedged.  

“So, he’s… nice?”

(“Ugh,” Fenris said.)

Patsy could practically feel the wookie noises and the pterodactyl screaming building up to maximum pressure in her sister’s head.

She was not disappointed.

“OKAY BUT WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN, ‘nice’ I mean WHAT THE FUCK THAT’S NOT A PROPER DESCRIPTOR that’s like a THING people SAY when THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY and honestly am I even qualified to date a ‘nice’ guy, I mean I’M TWENTY-FOUR YEARS OLD AND MY MOTHER STILL PICKS OUT MY DATES!”

“Technically you’re almost twenty-five.”

Oh what the shit.  “Why the fuck would you say that, Steve, that doesn’t help!” Patsy complained as Bobby started to wail and, given the muffled thumping sounds, smacked her head repeatedly into her desk.

“I forgot it was a touchy subject, sorry.  Don’t cry!”

“I’M NOT CRYING, I’M WHINING, THERE’S A DIFFERENCE.  What am I supposed to do, Steve!?”

“Just keep saying you’re twenty-four?”

This fucking guy.  “She’s talking about her _date_ , Steve.”

“Oh, right.  Um…”  Clearly he was stalling.  “I mean, just be yourself I guess?”

“That’s how she ended up in the sink!”

(“In the what?”)

“RUDE PASTEY!”

“Is this thing on?”

“Holy shit, Warden, is that you?” Patsy asked, over the sound of what sounded like someone choking on a bottle of Mountain Dew.  Bobby was still quietly beating her head into her desk, so all that drowning had to be Steve.

(“What the hell kind of name is Warden?”)

(“Shh, this is about to get good.”)

“Hey Patsy.  Bobby, Steve.”

“Hi,” she heard Bobby say weakly.  Just a strangled, glugging sound from Steve.

“Well I think you should just give him a chance,” Warden said with absolutely no preamble whatsoever.  Classic.

“I am!  I mean, I’m trying to?”  There was a confused awkward pause full of mental flailing.  “Isn’t that what I’m doing?  AM I DOING IT WRONG?"

“But-”

“Look, Bobby, sweetie.  Obviously you have some kind of deep seated phobia of dating men who you might actually have a chance of getting attached to, which I’m guessing is a product of being intentionally emotionally unavailable to the men your mother thinks are appropriate.  I mean clearly there are some issues with boundaries and expectations here that go _way_ beyond a revolving door of first dates, but don’t you think you owe it to yourself to give this guy a legitimate shot if _you_ actually think you might like him?”

(“Damn, you weren’t kidding.  Ouch.”)

“I-”

“And you have _got_ to let go of this ‘fucking as a sign of legitimate interest’ thing.  Just because he says he doesn’t expect anything doesn’t mean that he _doesn’t_ want to fuck you.  Only shitty douche-bag humans _expect_ sex from the people they date, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with not wanting to be an asshole, and it has jack shit to do with him liking you.”

“But-”

“Honestly it probably just means he likes you that much more and doesn’t want to fuck things up.”

“So-”

“Chill the fuck out and stop trying to force things to fit a douchey reality you don’t really want anyway.  Just enjoy it for what it is.  And when you finally do fuck this dude, enjoy that too.”

There was utter silence on the line for an incredibly long moment.

“You know, that makes an alarming amount of sense.”

“Holy shit Bobby, you just got told.”

“Don’t even get me started on you, Patsy.  No one’s forgotten about your MMO boyfriends.”

(“What’s an MMO boyfriend?”)

NOPE, not today Satan!  “Shutting up now.”

“Well my work here is done.  And on that note, I gotta teach a class.  Save some Reaper for me.”

Steve was still gurgling on whatever carbonated beverage he’d decided to inhale.  Bobby was ominously quiet, still clearly shell shocked by the massive truth bomb that had been detonated in her face.

Those losers.  Patsy rolled her eyes.  “Hey, before you go - I reserved a copy of _The Blight: Volume 5_ for you, I’ll let you know when it comes in.”

“Sweet, thanks Pats!  Give me a call and I’ll come by the store.”

“Okay, see you later.”

Warden blipped out of chat and Patsy exhaled a long breath.

“I think I’m in love.”

“Shut up, Steve,” Bobby muttered.

“Say hi, Fenris.”

“Hi,” Fenris said automatically, leaning over her shoulder to get way too close to the mic.  Adorable.  “You okay Bobby?”

“Ugh,” her sister said.

“She’s fine.”

“Wait- Fenris?  Like from The Brewmother Fenris?”

The look he gave her computer screen could have scoured paint off a wall.  “Who the hell is this?” he demanded, picking up the mic and holding it near his face like it was the receiver of a super old fashioned telephone.  Adorable.

“It’s Alistair!”

He dropped the mic like it was on fire.  It bounced and landed near one of her speakers, emitting a loud buzzing feedback sound and she grabbed for it quickly to hit mute.  “Technical difficulties!  What the hell?”

“You’re playing videogames with my boss?!”

“What?  Your boss?”  She stared blankly, not making the connection.  “That’s Steve.”

“That is not _Steve_ ,” Fenris said, like the name was made of poison ivy and stink bombs.  “That’s Alistair!”

“Wait, like _the_ Alistair?  The one who owns The Brewmother?”

“And half the city!”

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.  Haha.  Ha.  Uh oh.”

The suspicion radiating from Fenris’ eyes could have bored a hole straight through the wall of a tank.  “What do you mean, uh oh.”


	27. Patsy vs. The Prelude to War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a nice day at the Kirkmall and Merrill and Patsy are having a lovely chat. Nobody is suffering more than usual. Yet.

Who the fuck had invented arms? They were a completely unnecessary part of the body, surely and then they had those _hands_ , hands full of _fingers_ and why was that a thing that existed in this world? Patsy groaned and then erased the unshapely lines staining the white paper in front of her. Maybe she could change the angle so that none of the arms could be seen.

_And what kind of angle would that be Patsy? He’s standing on his head and only the feet are in the frame? Mhm… could I make that work? Yes, yes I could. I am the goddamn artist, I can do whatever I want and if I don’t want to draw fucking arms then I DON’T HAVE TO. Maybe he’s doing a headstand while she talks to him. There we go. Problem solved, crisis averted. It’s not like anyone is ever even going to see this, except for Bobby. Why am I even bothering with this again? Ugh, fuck my entire fucking life._

“Aww, what are you doing?” The personification of the ^___^ emoticon had entered L3v3l Up without Patsy noticing.

“Hi Merrill.” Patsy awkwardly put her arms down on the counter, trying to hide her drawings with her elbows without looking like she was actually hiding something. Completely natural.  Nobody would ever-

“Wow, I didn’t know you could draw so well! These are so wonderful!”

Oh. Merrill lifted one of Patsy’s arms to have a better look and Patsy leaned back on her stool, cheeks burning because Merrill actually seemed to mean it and she didn’t know what to do with the compliment.

“Oh, well… these are just some silly little doodles... “

“There’s speech bubbles! Are you doing a comic? That’s so exciting! What’s the story?”

Patsy chewed on her thumb, studying Merrill’s face while she thought about whether she should actually give a detailed answer. Merrill only looked back at her with the sweetest smile in the world and bright eyes. Was this girl even real? The more she looked at Merrill, she was developing a burning urge to draw her in one of Yuna’s outfits, doing a cute pose. Now, Final Fantasy X or X-2 Yuna? Maybe the X-2 beginning one, Merrill as a popstar would make so much sense! Bobby could be Rikku and she could be Paine, naturally, and then… Oh, right, it was her turn to talk.

“So, it’s not really a comic. It’s like a… hm, I’m working on a computer game, sort of? It’s like a virtual novel that you can play through and it’s about this girl and she.... well, there’s romance.” Patsy felt the urge to shove her drawings in her mouth and swallow them. _Why tell her about your stupid Dating Sim? What’s wrong with you?_

“A game! That is so impressive!” Merrill clasped her hands together and her face lit up like a flashbang grenade. “I don’t even have internet at my house!”

Patsy’s eyes exploded.

“How do you… live?”

“Aw, I’m doing fine, thank you for asking! Had a good honey harvest this weekend!”

Yuna, sending honey instead of souls.

“I always forget that you have bees.”

“Oh, I don’t _have_ them. It’s more like a house share!”

Yuna, summoning an army of bees. Yes, perfect! She should draw that immediately!

“Ah, right! I just remembered why I came over!” Merrill smacked her hand against her forehead. Adorable.

“Do you need my help for something?” Patsy begrudgingly filed away her foray into a Final Fantasy/Real Life AU to re-visit later.

“Yes, I do! You’re so smart,” Merrill beamed and patted her shoulder in an acknowledgement of Patsy’s extraordinary skills of deduction. _Take that, Roberta “What is your life, Pastey” Hawke! I should have my own detective show. PI Patsy, solving crimes and breaking hearts! Follow her as she tackles the seedy underbelly of Kirkwall and-_

“Patsy, Fenris has been so grumpy this morning that _even I_ can’t pretend to not notice.”

“Oh?”

Patsy frowned and worry began crawling up her spine. Was he mad at her? The double date had went so well, though, not to mention their weekend full of fucking. (‘Fuckend’. Hehe.) If one evaluated it by the number of orgasms alone, it would already end up in the Top Five Sex Sessions everywhere!

“So, I was thinking… maybe you could do the thing where you come over and you two unsuspiciously disappear for a while and when you return, Fenris is all smug and relaxed?”

Patsy was way too cool a person to get flustered or embarrassed, so the heat in her cheeks was just a reaction to the warmth of Merrill’s cute face and the sudden cough attack was brought on because her body remembered that incident from last week where she bit into a dry Weetabix and almost died. Not every cereal made a good snack. A lesson she had to learn the hard way.

“Uuuuh, Merrill… I don’t… once, that happened ONE TIME!”

And it hadn’t even involved anyone coming in their pants. Or coming at all. So she really doubted he’d been _relaxed_ after. Though he did say he’d leave a few minutes after her, so as not to raise suspicion… hmmm. But being subtle was a futile attempt anyway, since APPARENTLY everyone was busy snooping on other people when THEY SHOULD BE WORKING. And Merrill was outright laughing at her now. Terrible.

“If you’re done chatting, can you please do your job and let me pay for this video game?”

A sour-faced lady in her twenties slammed a _Call of Duty_ game on the countertop. Of all shooters to play, she chose that one? No wonder she was in a bad mood. Patsy served her with a fake smile and raised eyebrows and then made a grimace at Merrill once the unfriendly customer had left.

“So rude! As if she couldn’t see that we were discussing something important!” Merrill nodded her agreement. “Anyway, what were you asking? Oh right, whether I can come over.”

Patsy swivelled around on her stool while she thought it over. On the one hand, cheering Fenris up, yes please. On the other, what if he was mad at _her_? On the third hand, she should probably stay in the shop until Bela showed up with her weekend-hangover. While she mulled it over, Merrill suddenly perked up and moved towards the window.

“Awww, it’s Alistair! It’s been so long since he’s visited us.”

Suddenly Patsy’s mind turned into an animated sequence of a protagonist realising the importance of past events in relation to what was happening currently. Images of her playing Mass Effect 3 Multiplayer mixed with Fenris pressing his lips against her neck and then Steve’s voice echoed over and over:

_Fenris? … It’s Alistair. … **It’s Alistair. … ALISTAIR.**_

Right. The store would survive without her for a second. It’s not like they ever had any customers this early anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kirkmall is still alive!
> 
> While we can't promise regular updates (because LIFE and ADULTING ugh so inconvenient), we can promise that any future chapters will be filled to the brim with cute awkwardness and awkward cuteness and just plain terrible life choices!
> 
> Thanks for reading so far! <3


	28. Fenris vs. The Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tried so hard and got so far and in the end...

This was ridiculous.  This was insane.  This went way beyond walking to work in the rain when the mall was closed, conversations about gentrification, and girls in cookie suits interrupting his attempts at pitching woo.

This was going to be the worst day ever.

Alistair Theirin of the Denerim Theirins was in The Brewmother, and had been for the last two hours, and Fenris.  Was going.  To die.

Why was he cursed to a life full of nervous blond giants?  Alistair hadn’t shut up once in the entire time he’d been there, awkwardly trying to make conversation as he wandered around touching _everything_ \-  which only created more work for Fenris, who was then forced to follow along behind him, cleaning up messes and picking things up off the floor.

He didn’t love his job but he didn’t hate it either, and for the most part he was completely content to show up, make coffee, read in the slow hours and spend his lunch with Patsy.  He didn’t need his _boss_ of all people showing up to complicate his life.

In the time he’d worked at The Brewmother Alistair had shown up maybe twice, hanging around awkwardly for as little as possible and always seeming grateful to escape.  The first time Fenris hadn’t even known who he was, just assuming that the scruffy blond guy who showed up in a raggedy t-shirt and flip-flops was the plumber or the electrician or something, there to fix a thing that Fenris hadn’t realize was broken.  Merrill explained to him later in her chipper, beaming way that some rich eccentric young guy actually owned their shop.  Generally it affected his life zero percent; Merrill dealt with him and Fenris went on his merry coffee-making way, free (at least until Cullen) of blond stammering awkwardness.

He was a good person and he didn’t deserve this.

Sort of.  Mostly.

“Thanks for letting me, you know, hang out in the store,” Alistair said for what had to be the eight millionth time since he’d shown up that morning, hovering chagrined at the locked front door waiting because the doofus had lost his key.

“It’s your store,” Fenris said neutrally, still trying to put back into order the to-go cups that _someone_ had decided to make a cup castle out of because he was bored.

“Yeah, well, technically I guess,” Alistair shrugged.  “But it’s not like I really _know-”_

“It’s _fine_ ,” Fenris hissed, crumpling a cup lid in one fist behind the register.

Thank god the chime above the door went off a moment later, distracting Alistair from his efforts to fix one of the photos on the walls that he’d knocked askew and probably saving the frame from certain death and Fenris from having to sweep glass off the floor.  

Bobby stuck her head in and waved.  “Is he-”

“BOBBAY!” Alistair yelled and launched himself at Patsy’s twin, grabbing her around the waist, yanking her off the floor and spinning her around.

Bobby screamed, disturbing the table having a discussion in the back corner, though apparently people shrieking and rainbow tights flying around The Brewmother was a common enough occurrence these days that they went back to their business as soon as the screaming died down into giggles.

“Steve?!”

Alistair set her down, narrowly avoiding crashing them both into a table.  “It’s me!  Well, Alistair, technically, but you can call me Steve if you want to, I’m used to it.”

“But Alistair is such a cute name!”   _Really Bobby?  Ugh._ “Why didn’t you tell me you were so hot? I could have set you up ages ago!”  She punched him in the arm and Alistair rubbed the spot, laughing and pretending to be wounded.  As if Bobby’s tiny little fist could actually penetrate the thick level of stupid clogging up the airways.

“Aw, you’re too nice,” Alistair blushed, rubbing the back of his neck in a familiar move that made Fenris narrow his eyes. “If I had known how cute you guys are in real life, I would have been too nervous to talk to you online.”

“That’s silly,” Bobby said brightly, in a shower of exclamation-point balloons and unicorns frolicking along musical rainbow streamers floating through the air.  “We’re totally normal!”

Fenris slapped a palm into his forehead and dragged it down his face.   _HELP.  ME,_ he thought furiously across the hall at L3V3L UP where he could see Patsy in the window, changing out one cardboard character cut-out for another, neither of which he recognized.  His telepathic message must not have made it through the glass because all she did was smile, wave, and adjust her boobs.

Maker help him.

“Can I see you for a moment?” he interrupted whatever rambling, giggling and entirely pointless conversation Bobby was having with his boss, gesturing unsubtly toward the freezer with his head.

“Sure, in a sec-”

_“Now.”_

“Oooookay then, B-R-B!” she chirped at Alistair, bounding with over-energetic little Bobby-skips to where he was standing in the back hallway, trying to put his head through the stainless steel door.

“What’s up Fen-eep!”  Bobby squeaked as he shoved her into the freezer and rushed in after her, slamming the door shut behind him and wishing that it was one of those vault doors he could bolt shut instead of what amounted basically to a chilly closet where they stored their ham.  “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you have a noodle somewhere to be torturing?!” he hissed, both of them already huddling in the cold.

“I thought you wanted me to entertain him!” she hissed back.  “That’s what your text said!”

“Yes, well!”  He _had_ texted that, in a moment of weakness, after approximately 20 minutes alone with Alistair.  “You’re making it worse!”

“Calm down Drama Llama, it’s fine.”

He stared at her.

“Nothing is on fire?”

“Ugh.”

“Want me to go get Patsy?”

“NO.”   Bobby blinked at him and he irritably pinched the bridge of his nose.  “She thinks he’s _cute_.”

The image of Patsy being enveloped in Alistair’s oversized arms was burned into his brain for all eternity, and he was _not_ happy about it.  It was possible he would never be happy about anything, ever again.

“Aww, you know she likes you more.”

How had he even gotten them onto this path of conversation?  He knew Patsy liked him; he had the rug burn on his knees to prove it.  Plus he _still_ felt kind of guilty about the whole Spongebert thing, though thankfully the whole point of shower curtains was that they were washable and-

Wait, he wasn’t saying any of this out loud, was he?  Bobby was still staring at him, but didn’t look particularly amused and/or horrified, so he guessed he’d managed to keep it all between his ears.

“Can you just keep him quiet?”

“How do you propose I do that?”

“I don’t know, I mean-” he gestured wordlessly to her pink shirt with the flexing cartoon cookie, the tie-dyed rainbow tights and what he was going to generously assume was the grown-up version of a tutu.  “Don’t you have a coloring book in your purse or something?”

“I’ll have you know, coloring is very relaxing.”

“Bobby, _I don’t care,_ just keep him from touching anything else!”

There was a _crash_ and an _oops_ from behind the door, and Fenris cursed, storming back out into the cafe proper.  Alistair looked up at him from behind the counter where he was scraping up packets of sweetener that he’d somehow dumped all over the floor.  “I may have slightly-”

“IT’S FINE,” Fenris said for the twenty-seven thousandth time, narrowly resisting the urge to pull out all his hair.  “Move, I’ll get it.”

“Are you sure? I can-”

“I. Said. I’ll. Get. It.”

“Why don’t you show me how to make coffee, Alistair?”  Bobby interjected, immediately distracting his stricken-looking boss.  Maker, _really?!_ Fenris narrowed his eyes at her, demanding _WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME_ with his brows.

 _I don’t have a coloring book?_ he could only assume her apologetic smile and shrugging shoulders were trying to convey, and he hid his face behind an open cabinet door and just swore silently to himself until he ran out of words.  Fine.  If his boss blew up the espresso machine, it would no longer be his problem.

“Let’s make something delicious,” Fenris heard Bobby say, which could only mean that there was shortly to be syrup all over his counters and floor.  He might as well curl up in his new home beneath the sink right now, there was no point in trying to do any sort of damage control.

 _Of course_ Patsy would be playing video games with his boss.  Unbelievable.  Her nervous laugh and that ‘uh oh’ would be haunting him for the rest of his shitty existence.  The entire Kirkmall already knew about them making out in Zevran’s closet, why should he be surprised in the slightest that the rest of the universe had been informed as well?

This whole ‘randomly popping into the shop’ thing better not be a frequent occurrence, he didn't think his nerves or his temper could handle it.  Stupid attractive jerk.  “Who knew little Steve would be so tall and muscle-y,” Patsy had said earlier when she stopped in, in that chipper voice that reminded him of her sister.  

“Maybe you should put one of these on,” Bobby suggested, putting one of The Brewmother’s awful orange aprons over Alistair’s head.

 _That's it.  This will not stand!_ He needed reinforcements for his reinforcements.

Five minutes later, he slammed a hot caffeinated beverage on the counter in front of Cullen, brutally interrupting his favorite activity at work: ponderously reordering one dollar bills so that they all lay face-side up.

Cullen jumped, clearly startled, and it took all Fenris had in him not to gloat visibly.   _Eye on the prize Fenris, eye on the prize._  He gloated invisibly instead.  Barely.

"Ah... hello.  Fenris," Cullen started, awkwardly professional despite seeming like he'd somehow forgotten Fenris' name.  "What can I... help you with?  Today?"

He already regretted this decision, enough that he didn't let go of the coffee cup, even though Cullen's eyes were flitting in confusion back and forth from it to Fenris' face to Zevran's turned back as though he needed an adult.  He'd made coffee specifically for this reason; some of the greatest military maneuvers constituted little more than bribes, and he'd made an excellent brew and had deigned, despite all urging, not to add anything relating to soy.

This damn noodle better not disappoint him.

"Ah... Fenris?"

"No."

"Oh."

The hot coffee was burning its way through the paper cup and into his palm, but rather than turn loose of it his grip tightened perilously.  Any moment the liquid would be compressed up through the top and erupt all over the counter like hot lava.  Cullen tried to discreetly move his paperwork and failed miserably, pulling on his tie as though he sensed the towering heights of his economic idiocy.   _Capitalism._

"So... Then... I'm sorry, but why are you here?"  His voice went up at the end with a nervous little pitch, though maybe that was just the sound of his tie crushing into his windpipe.

 _The plan, Fenris, stick to the plan._  That, or sacrifice all the skin on his palm to a giant blister of annoyance probably shaped like Alistair's face.

Still not entirely convinced, he let go of the coffee cup and left it steaming there between them.

“You need to come to The Brewmother. Now.”

“My break isn’t for another 90 minutes…" Cullen objected instinctively, clearly not absorbing the absolute dire importance of the situation and how close Fenris was to having a pile of dead sugary bodies in his freezer.  "Wait, why?”

“Bobby’s there.”

“Is there something wrong?  I was going to try and see her later, but..." The beginnings of his inner monologue thankfully tapered off into the sonic equivalent of a raised eyebrow as Fenris dragged a hand over his face.

“Cullen.  We have a common enemy.”

“We do?”

"He's _tall_ and _blond_ and _stupid_."  The eyebrow did go up then, the beginning stages of affront forming on Cullen's face.  He probably thought Fenris was describing _him_ \- which wasn't entirely inaccurate but was not, at the present moment, his biggest problem.

Oh how he'd fallen.

"Patsythinkshe'scute," he amended all in a rush, the words blurring together.

It took what seemed like ages for Cullen to decipher what he'd said, though when understanding finally dawned his look was so annoyingly close to smug that Fenris wished he hadn't said anything at all.  War occasionally required concessions, but clearly victory was coming at a very high price.

"You're _jealous."_

"That is ridiculous," Fenris fumed.  Jealously.  "He is a mess.  Which is why I need your hel- which is why you should get off your ass and come to The Brewmother.   It's a war zone.  I need you to extract Bobby.  So..."  Was his argument compelling?  He was rapidly ceasing to care.  "Go do that."

"Will you promise not to make me drink any more soy lattes?"

The look Fenris gave him could have withered Merrill's entire garden, and Cullen choked a little on the little sip of hot coffee he'd taken and decided to abandon the SS Smug Nuisance.  "I mean I guess I could-"

Fenris was already out the door.

The first thing he heard as he entered the Brewmother was _giggling._ Bobby’s Princess-under-a-love-spell laughter mixed with Alistair’s Too-stupid-to-be-court-jester guffaw and together they produced the most terrifying sound Fenris ever had to endure. Why. Why? Why here? Why him? _Cullen better hurry up. At least_ he _just smiles awkwardly._

As if on cue, a large suit appeared at his side and took in the scene before them. Alistair was adding a rather disgusting amount of whipped cream to the top of what was likely a mug filled with plain sugar and chocolate sauce while Bobby looked on appreciatively as though it was a unicorn she wanted to trap in the rainbow colored prison that was her tights. They both had icing sugar on their faces, because of course they did. Horrible.

“Is that…”

_An abomination in the eyes of any potential Maker? Well duh, Cullen._

“Mr. Theirin? Like _the_ Alistair Theirin? Of the Theirin Group? The multi-million dollar conglomerate?”

_Fucking shitty fuck shit. Fuck. Just. Fuck! Fuck everyone._

“I guess?”

Out of the corner he saw Cullen adjust his tie, _again._ Would it kill him to leave it alone for just 5 minutes?!

“Alistair Theirin is your boss? There was a portrait on him in the latest issue of _Thedosian Economics,_ I can’t believe this! They didn’t mention he owned a coffee shop!”

Fucking great. Instead of finally acquiring reinforcements, he’d simply added another excited puppy to the mix. He was done. Time to go on the offensive.

“Contain yourself, Rutherford. This is the enemy. Don’t be wowed by whatever the press thinks he is. Just _look_ at him.”

Alistair struggled to lick some chocolate sauce from his arm, twisting the limb around at a bizarre angle to try to get it to his mouth, and kindly proving Fenris’ point.

“Right… He’s obviously… A threat to us all.”

“Are you laughing right now?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Fenris turned his head to fix Cullen with a withering stare. There was a definite twitch to his lips, the traitor. He wouldn’t be half as amused if it was _his_ workplace being invaded by a bumbling giant who left a trail of destruction and icing sugar in his wake.

“So what’s the plan of attack here? How do we neutralize this dangerous individual?”

There was definitely some mockery in Cullen’s tone, but Fenris didn’t care. The giggles had to stop.

“I need you to take care of Bobby, she’s working for the enemy now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Extract her from the zone and ensure that The Gigglers stay _separate_.”

“I don’t…”

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Colin?”

“You just want me to get her out of the Brewmother? That’s your plan?”

“It won’t be easy. She’ll use her eyes. Go take her away and you know… _occupy_ her.”

“That sounds… extreme.”

“Come on man, just take her away and distract her.  Make out with her somewhere. I’ll take care of the main objective.”

Apparently even the thought of mouth on mouth contact made Cullen turn seven shades of red and choke on his own saliva.  Useless.  Fenris closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. _Fucking hell, what is Bobby even doing with this guy?_

Watching Cullen on his exfil mission was… painful.

This whole experience was painful.  And naturally, just at that moment, Bobby looked up from whatever bubbling concoction of sugary horror she and Alistair had created and realized that he'd introduced yet another awkward giant into the room.  Her eyes went wide and round like one of Patsy's cartoon characters and even though the giggling abruptly stopped (half the goal), her expression morphed into something like a panicked scream crossed with a completely insincere 'it's fine' repeated at high pitch and volume.  He got the distinct impression that if she could have levitated out the door without ever leaving a seated position, she would have.

Come _on_ , what was with these two?  He’d better not have sat through the misery of bad wine and seafood for nothing.

Someone was going to have to pay for this.  It was probably going to be Cullen.  He was being absolutely no use at all and his hands were on that fucking _tie, again_ , and if he strangled himself Fenris was absolutely resolved not to help.   _He_ was the one who needed the cavalry to ride in, only to be failed by not one but _two_ waves of reinforcements, and now one unit type seemed to be cancelling out the other, and-

Forget it.  It was too much to be borne.  The door chimed with a gaggle of new customers just as he saw Alistair's stupid sneaky hand reaching for the marshmallow sauce, and Fenris abandoned his carefully crafted plan, snatching the bottle out of his boss's reach before it somehow managed to explode and cement them all to the floor.

Alistair didn't even notice, too busy staring at Bobby staring at Cullen who was doing a terrible job of dividing his attention between staring back at her and talking to one of the random faceless people who just walked into the store and seemed to know him.  Fenris rolled his eyes and made a latte, struggling not to put soy milk in it out of spite.

"Is that him?" Alistair said, too loudly to be a whisper even though he was clearly trying to be stealthy.

"Maybe. Kind of.  Yes."

"He's hot!"

"Shut up, Steve."

"I don't think he's too old for you at all."

"Shut UP, Steve!"

"I'm just saying, sheesh.  Being encouraging isn't a crime."

"Isn't it?" Bobby questioned testily, though the way her cheeks were bright pink made the hard tone of her voice entirely unconvincing.

 _Take that!_ Fenris thought, irrationally smug now that Alistair was annoying someone other than him.

"I'm going to go talk to him."

"Don't you dare."

"I'm gonna tell him you liiiiike him."

"Steve."

"Bobby and Blond Guy, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

"I will _destroy_ you, Steve," she hissed.  Fenris and Alistair both laughed - Fenris because of the way she balled up her little rabbit fists put him in mind of a wet, fussy cat, and Alistair because - well clearly Alistair was a horrible person.

"I told you so," Fenris said, unapologetically smug as he scooted Bobby down the countertop with an elbow so he could get at the tea.

"Oh shut up," she muttered, which naturally he chose to ignore.

His boss, like an unhousebroken puppy attacking your ankles, had made a beeline straight for Cullen and was vigorously shaking his hand.  Cullen looked like he'd swallowed a ping pong ball, his entire tall, annoying body swaying back and forth with the force of Alistair's handshake.  When they finally broke apart, Fenris could see the chocolate sauce on Cullen's hand from where he was standing.  Bobby made a little crying sound and put her head in her hands.

Fenris hadn't thought it possible to exceed his current maximum level of smugness, but in that moment he felt it swell to previously unknown capacity.

Cullen was standing stock still like the stodgy gray statue he was, bearing the brunt of Alistair’s overeager assault with one chocolate syrup-covered hand held awkwardly out with fingers splayed.  He looked at Fenris as though signaling for help, eyes narrowing faintly when all he did was raise his eyebrows and make a show of slowly wiping down the counter.   _Take that, noodle._

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Bobby groaned, her face half shielded by her hand as though there was a scary movie playing out in front of them, not wanting to watch and unable to look away.  “You did this, didn’t you,” she accused when he failed to respond.  “You made this happen with your mind.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

“I bet this is revenge for the scallops.”

“Bobby.”

“I didn’t make you order them!”

“You want him, go get him.”

“Do you have to make that sound so desperate and perverted?”

Fenris rolled his eyes and gestured with the sponge he was holding.  “Look.  He obviously wants to be rescued. Rescue him.”   _Take him far from this place and let us never speak of this again._  Seriously, this was the last time he ever drew up a plan that depended on Bobby and Cullen providing battlefield relief, that was like trying to put out fire with… even more fire.  Fire that wouldn’t talk to… other fire.

Bobby was staring at him like he’d given his internal monologue out loud, but if he had she’d been far too busy conducting her middle-school romance to notice.  “Are you sure?”

“Just. Go. Talk. To. Him.”

She didn’t stamp her foot, but probably only because they were dangling several feet above the ground.   _“Fine.”_

_“Good.”_

_“Okay.”_

“Bobby, you’re still here.”

“I’m going!” she protested, annoyed, and slid down off the counter.  And immediately skidded on some unseen patch of chocolate syrup and almost fell.  “Don’t.  Say.  Anything.”  Bobby glared at him as she attempted to rip a paper towel off the roll and ended up with three sheets more than she needed, before turning around and making as sincere an attempt at storming off as someone in a tutu could possibly manage.

Well.  So much for his master plan.  He had no idea what Alistair was saying to Cullen to make Bobby’s face go white and then hot pink in quick succession, but she flung the paper towels at him and then was pushing him out of the cafe with both hands on his back like he was a rock she was trying to roll off a cliff.  Cullen seemed rather too flustered to defend himself, flapping the paper towels in a wave that only made him look like a big silver bird.  Covered in chocolate.  Typical.

Steve - dammit, _Alistair_ \- was laughing as Bobby maneuvered Cullen out the door and into the hallway, and Fenris at least had the dubious pleasure of watching her glare at someone else, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then at Alistair through the glass as they disappeared out of sight.  Too little too late, though it wasn’t like he hadn’t warned her; some people just couldn’t take a hint.  Or be trusted with sugar.

Still laughing, Alistair slowly turned around until he was facing Fenris. Like a scene from a horror movie, he half expected Alistair’s face to fall off to reveal the hideous monster lurking underneath. _And then he’s going to stab me with a spoon. 27 times. Oh, look, he’s coming closer. Still smiling. What is fucking wrong with him. Why is he so happy? This is a terrible day and he should feel bad._

Thankfully, a customer demanded his attention before Steve the bumbling giant made his way any closer, and Fenris made sure to take his time brewing the espresso.

But Alistair… _lingered._ He had the nerve to move behind the counter and stand right next to Fenris. Watching him. Handing him the cinnamon for reasons that probably only made sense to REALLY STUPID PEOPLE. He was right back to square one, even after everything he’d tried. He needed a _deus ex machina_. He needed… shit. As much as he hated his life right now, did he hate it as much as the idea of Alistair and Patsy being _friendly,_ talking about things that were none of Alistair’s business and laughing about weird video game things he didn’t understand?

He handed the espresso to the waiting customer and Alistair immediately nudged his elbow and opened his mouth. _UGH._

“So, Fenris, you’re Patsy’s _boyfriend_ , eh?”

_I’m going to kill him.  He’s going to die._

“This is such a hilarious coincidence, don’t you think? I mean, I could have never imagined that _you_ would be Mr Dick on-”

“Yes, hilarious. Haha. Okay, let me just… be right back.”

Fenris escaped, stalking to the storage room and locking the door behind him - better safe than sorry. He had no choice. He had to call Patsy after all. _This round goes to you, Nerd Boy. Making me use my secret weapon that I’d never even intended to bring to the battlefield. Making me text my girlfriend to- … My acquaintance. Shit. Fuck you, Alistair._

After sending a well-thought-out text to Patsy that made clear how dire the situation was without revealing his own patheticness and definitely still made him come off as cool and collected, he remained in the storage room for a little while longer, trying to steel his mind for the (hopefully) last few minutes he had to endure in Alistair’s company. _You can do this Fenris. Just ignore everything he says. It is meaningless._

“You’re back! I thought I might have to start serving customers by myself, whew!”

If Fenris was a praying man, he would pray for patience, but the only sound in his head was a long disgusted grumble.

“This is a lot more fun than I thought it would be! I will definitely stop by more often now!”

He was so close to falling to his knees and shouting to the sky like Darth Justice. Why. No. Why. _Patsy, hurry up. Release me from this suffering!_ Alistair edged in annoyingly close again, forcing Fenris to hold up an empty mug between them like a shield.

“Thanks for letting me, you know… hang out.”

_It’s not like I had a choice, asshat. I tried so hard..._

“I don’t really have any friends… in real life, anyway, heh.” Alistair rubbed his neck, and really, did these people all come from the same robot factory, assembled with extra large parts and programmed with the same five moves? Annoying Robot #2 activated nervous laughter even though nothing funny had happened. Though his sad puppy eyes did eerily remind him of Bobby…

Clearly _everyone_ was out to make his life harder, with all their _feelings_ and _emotions_ and being _nice_. Ugh.

“What I’m saying is… I had a nice day, thank you.”

And it will be the last of its kind, he wanted to say. He really wanted to. But he heard himself say “You’re welcome,” instead, and almost slapped himself.

Thankfully, Patsy chose this moment to burst into The Brewmother and point a detached console controller at the lump of chocolate and disgrace that was his boss.

“You! Over here! Mario Kart! I will _destroy_ you!”

Alistair almost strangled himself to death trying to get out of the apron faster than was reasonable, and Fenris was so relieved he could have cried. And then could have vomited for five years as Alistair had the audacity and misjudgment to pull him into a hug before he rushed over to Patsy.

A hug. Because he couldn’t just let Fenris have even the tiniest shred of dignity. That monster.

Finally, the doors to The Brewmother closed and Fenris was alone. No giggles, no shouting, no awkward laughter. Silence. He closed his eyes and inhaled the comforting coffee smell that never left The Brewmother.

This was how it should be.  This was what he needed, what he _deserved._

_I bet they’re having fun at L3V3L UP._

Fenris sighed and began to return order to the counter. Such a mess.

_I was going to meet Patsy for lunch. Maybe I should take some sandwiches and go over there._

How did all the chocolate sauce end up on the fucking floor?

_Sure, Alistair is still there but he’ll be occupied. And at least there’s no chocolate sauce over there. I think, anyway._

_Wait. If I go over there, all of this would have been pointless. My hard-earned not-quite-victory (more of a loss really)... all for nothing._

_Patsy looks really cute today, though._

_Oh well._

_Fuck it._

 

* * *

 

  __

 


	29. Bobby vs. The Merits of Low-Level Hiking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobby is way better at extraction missions than anyone ever, but not so good at backup plans.

And just like that, they were in the hallway.

Together.

Alone.

Alright well, not specifically alone – there were people everywhere, and while no one who actually _worked_ at the Kirkmall even bothered to raise a brow at a life-size Rainbow Brite pushing a man in a suit in front of her like a dead body in a wheelbarrow, everybody else was staring.

_Ahaha.  Shit._

Bobby dropped her arms and immediately tried to shove her hands in her pockets, only to discover that the skirt she was wearing didn’t have any, and awkwardly jammed them behind her back like she’d stolen them.  When Cullen turned around she was still trying to find a way to stand that didn’t look like she was about to goose step and salute someone, and froze in place mid-motion, which she was pretty sure made her look like a monster out of a movie about demon possession where nobody’s limbs worked correctly at all.

Cullen, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice.  Instead he was – smiling?  Well, sort of smiling anyway.  The expression on his face was bewilderedly amused, as though he thought that Alistair being a completely embarrassing bigmouth was somehow funny and adorable rather than immediate grounds for healing everyone but him the next time they played Overwatch.

 _I’ll show you K-I-S-S-I-N-G you stupid – wait._  Even the thought of kissing Cullen again sent heat climbing up her chest and neck like an evil thermal spider.  He had such a nice smile that it was really hard to keep from looking at his mouth, and-

This was really getting out of hand, wasn’t it?  She was Bobby Hawke, the Kirkmall’s Dating Queen.  She didn’t get flustered around _boys_.  She didn’t even _like_ boys half the time, especially not _nice_ ones, and here she was, about to combust into a smoldering pile of ash and awkward hair twirling.  

Embarrassing.  Get it together, Blobby.

“That was… interesting,” he said, in the most well-meaning understatement of the year.  He didn’t even follow it up with his signature tie-yanking maneuver, taking the time to carefully clean the chocolate syrup from his hands.  His big, strong, incredibly sexy – _dammit!_

She hadn’t even found the wherewithal to respond when Cullen caught her eye and grinned, the expression entirely too playful and fucking stupidly hot for someone with a deep abiding love of the monotone.  

“So, you really talk about me?”

_Warning, Immolation Immanent.  Danger, Danger, Evacuate The Premises._

She couldn’t even come up with anything to say to that, managing a psychotic sounding giggle and a weird little bird shrug that probably looked like she was a confused starling trying to escape into the outside world through one of the skylights.

Fucking STEVE!  She was _so_ kicking his ass later.

“Is that… weird?” She hazarded, trying not to rake her hands down her face and peel off all her skin mid-conversation.  She was _not_ Patsy, who couldn’t keep a single dick-on-leg to herself, and-

“It’s nice, actually.  I like that you think about me.”  He stepped in to close the distance between them with a confidence that surprised her without really knowing why, reaching to tip her chin up and swipe at something on her cheek with the pad of his thumb, and suddenly she wanted him to kiss her _so badly_ that goosebumps swept the entire length of her arms.

She took a little step back.

“I thought you might have to go back to work.”  Why did that come out sounding like a question?  Stupid.

He had the grace to look only mildly disappointed at the renewed distance, the expression fleeting and then buried under his usual congeniality.  “We’re not busy, so I took an early lunch.  And I think Zevran is amused by my attempts at-” He didn’t finish the thought, sweeping a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, the movement augmented by a boyish smile.

_Augh he is so cute! What? Is?! HAPPENING?!?!_

Screw it.  If she was going to freefall face first into hell, she might as well try to ride a falling piano on the way down.

Impulsively she grabbed his hand.  “Come with me.”

* * *

 

“I’ve never been back here,” Cullen wondered aloud, craning his neck to look as she pulled him along the well-beaten but innocuous path to the back of the mall.  There was a much weathered picnic table or two under the sporadically planted shade trees, but no one ever came back here except the employees, to smoke or take out the trash.  Or, well – never mind that right now.

Regardless, it didn’t surprise her that he’d never found himself back behind The Arcadium; he didn’t exactly seem the type of person inclined to low-level hike, his suits weren’t, well, suited for it.

And she’d just been holding his hand for five minutes straight in public, which was something that hadn’t happened even on their ill-advised double date, all the – um – “other things” aside.

She was never going to be able to look her stairwell in the eye again.  For Maker’s sake, the last time she’d gotten so ruffled up over kissing had been…

Never.  Never ever.

That was _extremely_ disturbing.  She decided not to think about it.

She reeled to a stop near the backdoor to Calling Cards for lack of a better spot to claim as their final destination.  Already she had doubts; why the hell had she dragged him out here?  Everything was scraggle grass and old cigarette butts, and when the wind blew just right you could smell the dumpster.  She dropped his hand to shrug theatrically in a way that she hoped didn’t call attention to how incredibly cringe-worthy this whole day had been so far.

“So… this is it!”

Cullen glanced around, hands safely in his pockets, and smiled gamely.  “It’s very green?”

“Yes. Yes. This is a fertile land and we will thrive.”

“We will rule over all this land!” He picked up, _like a complete nerd_ , without even a pause.  “And we will call it…”

“This land!” they said together, and laughed, ice broken.

“I think we should call it your grave,” put in Oghren unhelpfully, burping loudly as he lugged an armload of broken down cardboard boxes from Calling Cards to the compactor.  Bobby waved him off, shaking her head.

"Excellent timing."

“Some people have no appreciation for the classics.”

Cullen wrinkled his nose, cringing.  “Is Firefly old enough to be a classic now?  That makes me feel a bit… ancient.”

Alistair’s enthusiastic ‘encouragement’ still fresh in her brain, Bobby rolled her eyes.  “Please, stop me before I make some kind of bad analogy about wine, I-" she started, and then stopped because he really did stop her, making good on her bad joke by leaning in for a kiss.

She should have been expecting it – in fact, that was half of the whole misbegotten reason she’d dragged him out here to the fucking hinterlands to begin with, risking random encounters with nosy sales associates, bears and Oghren’s crusty ginger beard.  Not that she necessarily wanted to own up to luring this nice, clean-cut, respectable gentleman out to make out practically behind a dumpster, but –

This was not going how it should.  She must have done something off-putting, must have frozen up or forgotten to kiss him back, because he quickly pulled away.  His hands hadn’t even made it out of his pockets, and she was – _stop staring Bobby.  Say something._

“Sorry, was that – not okay?”

His eyes were searching her face, so suddenly serious that – well, that she laughed.  Because of course she did.  “No – I mean... yes?  It’s totally okay, I-"

He kissed her again, long and soft and slow - and careful, somehow managing to leave plenty of polite space between them.  It was so... considerate, in its own sad little way, and she could have pulled away if she'd wanted to, but -

Well when you came down to it, she didn't really want to, did she?  Alistair was right, she _had_ been thinking a lot about him, and not all of it had been in that specific NC-17 sort of way that was just short of fantasizing about the way his ass looked in a pair of jeans.  Mostly.

She managed to kiss him back this time, sliding up onto the tips of her toes.  His hands slipped from his pockets and moved to her hips to steady her, pulling her in inch by subtle inch until it felt only natural to press hers against the firm breadth his chest.

How did people even have bodies like this?  Her fingers rattled over his buttons seemingly of their own accord, gravely testing her ability to keep from pulling one or two or all of them loose.  This was really not the time or the place - it was fully daylight!  In public!  Practically in the parking lot! - but that didn't stop her from tangling her fingers up in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him further down when her balance teetered.

His mouth slanted against hers, muffling a little squeak of surprise when his hands closed around her waist, lifting her up and then setting her gently down on the back stoop of the card shop before she even realized they were moving backwards.

They slowed their momentum, just for a moment, Cullen's lips and hands turning questioning, asking without asking if this shift in position was alright.  It was... sweet, and the effortless way he could sweep her literally off her feet at a moment's notice was incredibly fucking hot - not to mention handy.  Alistair was completely wrong, all swooping was definitely _not_ created equal.

Her fingers walked themselves upward, unable to help themselves from pulling his tie askew before she looped her arms around his neck, more of a height now to kiss him thoroughly without straining.  He was not the only one who could make a person feel like they were on the wrong side of a ripped bodice in a romance novel, and her fingers framed his jaw and curled into his hair, feeling him jolt when she bit his lip.

His arms came around her then, crushingly tight, no longer questioning but questing, a hand sliding up her spine to the nape of her neck and then back down again to the small of her back.  He was far too polite to grab her ass in public - something they both recognized, her small giggle against his mouth met with a good-natured grumble at the back of his throat, enough like a growl to make her whole body shiver.  She was certain he could feel it, his hand lingering on the hem of her shirt as though considering the absolute scandal of sliding up beneath it.

 _Do it,_ she chanted in her mind, _do it do it do it_ , exercising all her dubious powers over the Force to encourage him along, and not at all disappointed to feel the warmth of his fingertips lightly graze the base of her spine.  It would be trite and overdone to call the sensation _electric_ , especially since there was nothing specifically shocking about it, but she could feel a flutter in the pit of her stomach as his fingers grew bold, splaying out over her back as though to touch as much of her as possible.

And there _her_ fingers were, back on the top button of his shirt without her even knowing how they'd gotten there.

This was probably a terrible idea, both of them at work, in plain view of anyone who just happened along and in no way able to do something even slightly illicit and immature like sneak back to his car and - that was way more X-rated than illicit, honesty, but all things considered it wasn't like she was going to stop now.  Especially when he stepped up onto the stoop with her and retook the advantage in height, towering over her as he pressing her back against the wall, his seeking hand curved around her ribs as his arm banded around her, between her body and the concrete.

She really had no idea at all how far this would have gone if not for Oghren: The Inconvenient Sequel nearly hitting them both with the door as he grunted and stomped his way back inside, smelling of cigarettes and the flask of whiskey he hid down his trousers (hint: it was not all that well hidden).

Cullen scowled irritably as the door swung closed, which - Maker help her - she also found incredibly compelling (honestly _way_ more compelling than it really had any right to be), and lamented the way he took a deep breath and turned her loose, one hand moving automatically to adjust his tie even as the other lingered on her hip.  He was smiling when he looked down at her though, wide and uncensored and - fond, somehow, when she was expecting lusty or lascivious.  It made her blush, toying the ends of her hair in her fingers, suddenly shy, and self-conscious because of it.

"That was-" he pushed a hand through his hair, attempting to undo the damage done to his pristinely kempt appearance.  It wasn't working.  She had zero regrets.  "I've been wanting to do that since the moment I left your apartment."

"You could have come over," she offered, vaguely uncertain if that was the right thing to say - only that she really did mean it, and not entirely in the 'get it over with' way anymore, either.  It seemed like they’d had some sort of tacit agreement to avoid speaking to each other for as long as possible, or so she’d thought after their limited text message exchange over the rest of the weekend.  More than likely it was just her own inexplicable weirdness taking hold, her usual lack of desire to follow up on her dates bleeding like dark denim accidentally thrown into a load of white laundry.

"I wanted to give you some time," he admitted haltingly, lifting a hand to smooth a lock of her hair behind her ear as though trying to distract from his words with the movement.  "I didn't want it to seem like I was- pushing.  For anything."

Maker knew she would have slept with him the night of the Star Wars marathon, wookie suit and all, but somehow she didn't think that's what he meant.

"Do you want to maybe... come over?" she hazarded, with no plan whatsoever. "Not like, you know, tonight or anything, but... maybe Friday, or...?  I could make dinner."  She laughed, mostly in self defense, uncharacteristically tentative under his measuring gaze, her own sliding away to avoid it.  "I probably at least owe you that, after the whole... La Pasteria... thing."  And he didn't even know the half of it.  The embarrassing soapy half.

"You'd cook for me?"  He sounded so pleased she was immediately suspicious and had to look back at him.  Nothing nefarious at first glance, but she wasn't entirely convinced.

"...Sure?  Is that not a thing?"

"No - I mean, it's just really - you don't have-" he took a deep breath, straightened himself out.  "I'd love that Bobby, that sounds really nice."

"I'll even go light on the _aglio_ ," she said, just to make him blush.

He did, charmingly.  Rather than answer, he leaned down and gently kissed her again, not even bothering to do more than grin against her lips when Fenris yelled from down the way, a bag in hand of what was probably the cumulative detritus left in the wake of Alistair's visit.

"Get a room!"


	30. Cullen vs The Pep Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You brought this on yourself, buddy.

GOD, why was it so fucking hot?  Summer was supposed to be ending for crying out loud, not randomly hot as balls.  Her Transformers t-shirt was sticking uncomfortably to her back, and the swamp of sweat forming under the band of her bra was threatening to become a lake.  If Bobby didn’t get out here soon she was going to die of heat exhaustion AND miss her bus.  What had possessed her to wear all black today?  Well, other than that being the color of the majority of her closet… not the point.

The point was Patsy would have gone back to work just to take advantage of the air conditioner, if only the building wasn’t so far away.

Wedging herself into the tiny corner of shade under the bus stop overhang, she irritably dialed her sister’s number.  “Where are you?” she demanded, fanning herself with a folded piece of scrap paper from her sketch book.

“What? I’m home.”

“What the shit Blobster, why are you home?”

“I left a little early! I needed to go to the grocery store.”

What?  God, her sister made no sense sometimes.  Hadn’t they just gone?  Granted, most of what she’d ended up purchasing had been chocolate kids’ cereal, chocolate milk and… more chocolate, but she was relatively sure Bobby had gone the lame adult route of buying actual food.  What was her life, honestly, always cooking and vacuuming and doing things like laundry?   _Laundry._ If Patsy had any inclination to do any of that, she wouldn’t own so many nerdy t-shirts.  That was obviously just logical.

But there was just enough of _something_ in her sister’s voice to make her pause.  “Why…?”

“Cullen’s coming over,” Bobby answered, clearly distracted.   _Maker help this poor loser._  “Didn’t I tell you that?”

“ _No_ ,” Patsy protested, offended, as if she didn’t forget or just outright fail to tell her twin things all the time.  “You did not tell me you were going to entertain the sexy noodle.  What are you making?  What are you _wearing_?”

“Patsy,” her sister groused, the whir of something in the background that sounded like a food processor.  “It’s just dinner.”

“Suuuure it is.”

“Patsy-”

“Bobby and Cullen sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-”

“Patsy!  It’s. Just.  Dinner.”

Patsy rolled her eyes, adjusting the angle of her legs on the seat as though to somehow maximize the reluctant airflow on this breezeless afternoon.  “Well that’s your mistake.  Can you not just bang already? It’s killing the rest of us.”

“Well I’m sorry my love life isn’t progressing at FTL,” Bobby shot back crossly.  “Not everyone wants to make out in other people’s closets.”

“Could you at least make out in your own closet?”

“Why would I do that when I have a perfectly good couch.”

Touché.  Patsy hadn’t seen hers in over two weeks, ever since deciding that was where she was going to store all of her empty Amazon boxes.  Just, you know, on a temporary basis.  Until she took out the recycling.  Or the apocalypse.  “Fine.  At least tell me what you’re making.”

“Oh,” her sister said, sounding distracted again, too distracted to stay irritable it would seem.  Poor Bobblivious, such a disaster.  “I’m making spaghetti.”

“And what else?” Asking her sister to feed only two people instead of an army was like asking Fenris his opinions on the latest Frostbite engine, totally pointless.  It did, however, mean that she got to eat most of her meals without ever having to turn on her oven.

“Caprese salad, uh… crostini, oh and meatballs.”

Patsy sat up straight.  “Dad’s meatballs?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck, Blobby!”

“What?!”

“I see how it is, you’ll make them for noodle hair, but you won’t make them for me.”

“Oh for the love of- PATSY!  Not everything is about your stomach!”

Shows what her sister knew.  If it wasn’t about her vagina, it was _definitely_ about her stomach.

“CRAP!  The mixer just made a weird noise and stopped working, I have to-”

Bobby hung up with a click, and Patsy rolled her eyes.  “Bye then.”  Honestly, sometimes her sister was insufferably similar to an over-excited poodle version of Martha Stewart, just with less color-themed dinnerware.

Great, now she was melting AND incredibly hungry. _Thanks for fucking nothing, twin. Making meatballs just to get at Cullen’s meatb- …  I should not go there. But I did. And I probably will again._

She did a mental shrug and then a physical one, just because she could, and then tried to distract herself from the heat by thinking about what she could do about the yawning emptiness that had suddenly replaced her stomach. Did she have anything in her fridge she could turn into a meal? _There’s some cheese. I think. And milk. Do I have bread? No. I have ramen. I could… wait it’s a Friday, it’s okay to order in on Fridays. Piiiizzaaaaaaaaa._

Did she almost go an entire week without pizza?  Bobby would be so proud! No, actually, she wouldn’t. She’d be like “ehehe I told you it was possible, a fault confessed is half redressed, now can I lend you my Easy Meals For Lazy People cookbook” or whatever vaguely insulting thing that book was called.

Who cared. Patsy’s was going to have the best pizza ever while Bobby would hopefully choke on a meatball and- _oh god, so_ _gross, Patsy! Totally brought that on myself._

Just as she was desperately trying to tear the thought of meatballs (and any other sorts of balls, or meat, or - _gah_ ) from her mind, _Cullen,_ of all people, rolled up in front of the bus stop in his beige noodlemobile.

(Was he afraid of real colours? As an artist, and a human she was saddened and offended by his apparent need to appear as though… well to not appear at all. It was almost camouflage, the way the car matched his hair. )

As he slowly lowered his window, the air-conditioned air hit her like a wave of awesome and, well, cool, though it was infused with some very tangible pre-date desperation.

“Hi Patsy, do you need a ride? I’m-”

Before he could finish, she had already flung herself toward the car, scuttled into the passenger seat and smooshed her face into the A/C.

“Can you turn this up?”

 “Sure…”

She closed her eyes and groaned with pleasure, rolling up the window as he turned up the air.  “You’re a life saviour, Cullen. If I had to stay out in the sun for 3 more minutes, I would have _literally_ melted.”

His laughter was nervous. “It’s no big deal. I was on my way to your sister’s anyway…”

Ah, yes. _The date_. The _dinner date_. The dinner her sister was probably freaking out about right about now, while trying to deal with an exploding mixer. That date. The poison. The poison for Kuzco, the poison chosen especially to kill Kuzco, Kuzco's poison. _What a great movie._ She would definitely have to watch it tonight!  

Laughing to herself at her own private joke, she turned toward Cullen.  And stopped laughing.  “Wait, are you going there _right now?_ ”  Patsy subtly (or not so much, according to the redness currently crawling up over the edge of his collar) looked him over. Still wearing his work clothes, all grey and proper.

“Uhm.” He looked as though he was desperately trying to not adjust his tie and clear his throat at the same time, and maybe throw in a head scratching for good measure, too. “We were going to have dinner together, so…”

“It’s 6 pm.” She pointedly looked at the display in his car.

“That’s when I usually eat dinner.  I get home from work, eat, then take a jog and…” He caught her horrified stare and obviously tried to think of a way to finish his sentence in a way that didn’t make his life sound beige and dull. “... and that’s… just one of many possibilities?”

“Oh Cullen.” Patsy shook her head with the gravitas of someone who smugly considered herself supremely superior in the not-being-a-sad-beige-person department. “Showing up there right now would result in at least one person dying in a horrible exploding mixer incident, I am positive. Maybe go home, change your clothes, watch a movie and then show up there at like… I mean wait at least ‘til like _7 pm_.”

The hurt and confused puppy next to her stared down at his suit, paws clenching the steering wheel like it was his favourite chewing toy.

“What’s wrong with my suit?” _Oh no, what have I done? He sounds so_ sad. “Oh Maker, you’re right. I’m too early. I’m wearing my work clothes. I don’t even have flowers. Should I have flowers? How would I know? I don’t… I’m not… I haven’t…”

He finally gave in and loosened his tie and now Patsy understood why he was always wearing one. He immediately began to deflate in front of her eyes as though the tie was the only thing keeping all the bones and muscles together in that greek sculpture body of his. The greek, suited-up sculpture that was dating her sister.

And now he was turning into a saddeningly sad puddle of sadness right in front of her eyes.

For a moment she considered jumping out of the car and putting up with the Mount Doom levels of heat just to escape this situation, but dammit she was Bobby’s _twin_. If anyone was equipped to deal with the leftovers of someone’s suppressed internal screaming finally breaking free in an explosion of panic and distressed wookie-noises, it was her.

“Alright. Start driving. You’re coming with me. I’ve got this.”

She must have sounded convincing, because a glimmer of hope appeared on his golden retriever face and her fingers twitched with the sudden urge to pat his head and tell him that everything would be just fine.

Which it totes would be. Patsy to the freakin’ rescue.

* * *

 

 

Cullen hadn’t never actually managed to step _into_ L3V3L Up, had never gotten further than awkwardly hovering on the doorstep and saying hello while definitely _not_ checking whether Bobby was there when she wasn’t at the cookie stand. In his defense, that’s where she often was when she wasn’t at work smelling deliciously like cookies. And it was only natural for him to greet Patsy on his way back from buying yet another batch of snickerdoodles.

(He’d thought he might switch it up from time to time but he’d decided that he’d rather Jethann thought of him as someone completely obsessed with snickerdoodles than… Whatever he was. He got the feeling it was a word ending in -athetic.)

Anyhow, he hadn’t seen much of the inside of L3V3L Up, but enough that walking into Patsy’s flat felt eerily familiar. He was so busy taking in all the nerd paraphernalia literally the walls, ceiling and floor that he completely forgot to be awkward about getting sort-of shanghaied off to Patsy’s flat right before his date with Bobby, and also that there was huge potential that Patsy would want to talk to him about what a mess he was and… _apparently not too busy to be awkward after all, Rutherford._

“Ew, I gotta get outta these sweaty clothes.” Patsy rushed forward next to him and disappeared behind a door he assumed led to her bedroom. “Sit your ass down and relax.”

Relax. Yes. He knew how to do that.

Sitting down proved to be more complicated than he’d anticipated. There seemed to be a few options, it was just that they were… already occupied. A couch that would have easily seated two people was the resting place for a large bunch of empty boxes from a well known internet retailer. There was a chair, too, but it was drowning under a pile of potentially dirty laundry that Cullen wasn’t particularly eager to move.

Oh well.  He could just continue standing in the middle of the room. And sweat. Why was it so much hotter in here than in the car? Why was he still wearing his jacket?

He took it off and sighed in relief as the hot air trapped underneath dispersed into the nerdy ether. Sadly, he was still wearing long sleeves underneath. He _had_ debated about wearing a short sleeved dress shirt this morning, even made an internal pros and cons list. Wearing short sleeves to work didn’t feel quite proper, and the bank had a really good air conditioner anyway. Granted, for a date it would be fine, maybe even preferred and… _Why didn’t I just bring a second shirt to change into. This is what happens when I make lists in my head and don’t write them down, I don’t think things through enough!_

He felt less and less prepared for this evening by the second.

“You’re still standing.”

Patsy re-appeared and looked at him as though he was a curious new statue that had just apparated into her gorgon’s garden of horrors. She had changed into a different black t-shirt with a band logo that he assumed belonged to a group from the general metal-adjacent genre, if the spiky letters making lightning-bolt shapes were any indication.

Patsy’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer she stared at him staring back at her from the middle of her flat, neatly folded suit jacket in hand.

“I’m really nervous about tonight.” The words just burst out of him, like juice from an overripe orange death-squeezed by a bartender with hands like an angry gorilla.

Apparently this wasn’t new information for Patsy; she just snorted a laugh at his sudden outburst, the metaphorical orange juice of awkward spraying all over the living room. She dumped the clothes off the chair and unceremoniously onto floor, pushing Cullen into a seat and extracting the suit jacket from his hands by force. He watched with pleading eyes as she just dropped it on top of the mountain of clothes.

“Cullen.”

“Yes?” His eyes snapped up to her face.  She was smiling at him, thankfully without too much pity in her eyes.

“It will be fine.”

He laughed at that, only a slightly hysterical edge to the sound as he sunk back against the chair, trying to let go of some of the tension in his body.

“I’m just… well… “  
  
“Nervous, yeah.”

Patsy nonchalantly shoved the boxes cluttering the couch to one side, not bothered in the least as some toppled down into the floor. He tried not to notice either, even though it would NOT take long to fold the boxes, and he could just take them down to recycle them when he left, and… Patsy was looking at him expectantly, and probably not because she was anticipating a discussion about efficient recycling practices.

“It’s just been … a while… since I’ve been on a proper date.”

Years, it’s been years, Cullen.

“Dude, you _just_ went on a double date, I was there. Can it really get any more awkward than that? I don’t think so! You should be good.”

“This is different. We’re meeting at her apartment and-”

“Ooooooooooooooooooooh.” Oh no. Patsy cackled and Cullen’s stomach dropped like a mug falling out of a cupboard because he’d stored it recklessly on top of another, and he was trying to catch it, even though he knew it was too late. The mug would definitely crash to the floor and he could do nothing but hope that a small miracle would happen and he’d be able to fix it with super glue but deep down in his soul he was already preparing to get the broom.

“Oooooooooooooh, I see.” _No you don’t! You don’t see anything!_

“I, uh… I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Dude, you’re nervous about doing the deed, popping the bottle, getting into Bobby’s tutu, doing the frickle frackle, putting the d-”

“Okay, yes, _enough!_ ” The mug shattered into a million pieces.

Patsy grinned and waggled her eyebrows at him, and he sighed a sigh that came from the bottom of his soul.

“It’ll be fine! No need to be nervous about that!”

He scoffed at that. Patsy leaned forward and lowered her tone conspiratorially.

“Don’t tell her I said so, but Bobby is totally ready to bone you!”

He wanted to pick up the mug pieces and build a teleporter out of them that would help him go literally anywhere but here. He’d be able to weld the pieces together with his face, which was literally on fire.

“I… I am just going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“I’m just trying to take some of the pressure off! Like, just go there and chill and things will happen! You know, some after dinner cuddling on the couch and then BAM-”

He was _this close_ to putting his fingers in his ears and start yelling _I CAN’T HEAR YOU I CAN’T HEAR YOU_ , a tactic that apparently worked wonders for his nieces and of which he was beginning to see the appeal.

“I mean you want her, she wants you… nothing stopping you from just doing it, honestly. And even if you’re a bit rusty, it’s probably like riding the bicycle. Which, I’m not a bicycle person, so I’m not sure. Maybe more like picking up a FPS after a time of not playing? Sure, it might take a while to get top ranked again, but I mean, you won’t _totally_ suck.”

There was nothing that would stop Patsy from continuing this awkward conversation of awkward either, it seemed. Maybe the only way to end a torrent of ‘helpful’ pep talk was to participate in it.

“Patsy, I… I appreciate your help.” He _assumed_ she was trying to help, anyway. “I’m not nervous about the… uhm… _process._ It’s just, uh…”  He cleared his throat. Twice. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

Patsy stared at him with a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place, and rather than look back he stared around at her flat, attempting to focus on anything other than the fact that somehow he’d ended up talking to Bobby’s _sister_ about his sex life.

Lucky for him, there was a lot to look at. All kinds of… _wait, is that a limited edition Cylon raider model? The one that can light up? Awesome!_

“Cullen.” His head snapped back to her and he caught a glimpse of a warm smile playing around her lips. “It will be fine. You’ll be fine.”

He didn’t know whether it was because part of his brain was still freaking out about the limited edition Cylon model (!!!) or the change of tone in Patsy’s voice, but it actually sounded reassuring.

“And you know, I’m glad that…with Bobby…  you know…” Patsy wrinkled her nose and her eyes flicked towards the ceiling and back, as if she was already annoyed at herself for saying what she was about to say. “You’re a good guy.”

This was probably the first time he’d seen Patsy be 100% sincere and he didn’t quite know what to say, his fingers involuntarily playing with his tie as he awkwardly smiled.

She smiled back, almost shyly, clearly as uncomfortable as he was, and then waved her hand as though to dispel the entire situation.

“Anyway, that tie really needs to go.” Before he could raise an objection, she’d already gotten up and taken it away. Another victim added to the pile of discarded clothing.

“And your shirt…” Cullen tightly clutched his shirt, just in case she decided to rid him of it, too. “Rolling up the sleeves will do wonders. Trust me!”

Patsy winked and then disappeared in her bedroom, leaving him to stare at his arms before slowly rolling up the sleeves. Couldn’t hurt. As she returned, she was holding two plastic sticks, throwing one at him that he barely managed to catch before it hit him in the head.

“Get up! If you keep thinking about this date, you’re just gonna end up a nervous wreck.   _Again._ ” He couldn’t argue with that. “Sooo… let’s fight!”

Patsy pressed a button on her stick and oh, it lit up! A lightsaber! Of course!

Cullen jumped to his feet, lightsaber activating with a pre-recorded whir.  

“Oh, it is _on_.”

  



	31. Cullen & Bobby vs. Trying to Not Try (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For the first time in what had to be close to ten years, Cullen Stanton Rutherford found himself in a young lady’s bedroom." WHAT HAPPENS NEXT WILL SHOCK YOU

It wasn't often that Bobby had occasion to regret every life decision that had ever led her to this point, but -

Ugh.  What was she even thinking, Ultimate Triathlons of Regret were her favorite pastime. She was a natural prodigy, practically a gold medalist in woe and despair. And probably at least a bronze in vast overstatements and hyperbole.

“It's fine,” she said aloud to the dying potted plant from Merrill drooping sadly on her counter. She’d shoved a stack of grad school applications under it at some point, and the evil was probably leaching its way upward.  “Everything is fine.”  

So what if her food processor had given up the ghost in the eleventh hour and now her flat smelled of red wine, ground beef and burnt plastic?  She'd opened a window. Problem solved. A+ Bobby, definitely winning at adulthood.

Of course that meant it was now 12000 degrees in her kitchen, but she had neatly solved this ancillary problem by stripping down to her Captain Planet underoos, the sexiest of all date attire.

Not that she was planning on- if it happened then great, but it wasn’t like- there was no reason _not_ to wear cartoon underwear. Because… Shit.

Get it together, Bobby.  All she needed to do is put on some pants and Cullen never need find out what her element of choice was.

(Heart. _Obviously_ it was Heart which, Patsy be damned, did indeed count as an element because it was fucking _canon_.)

The fact that her bedroom looked like a bedroom and not like a tornado had ripped through a rainbow-and-apricot-themed thrift store was a minor victory.  At least here she knew it was because she’d always been the tidy twin (or at least the twin most susceptible to parental nagging and pointed looks of disappointment), and not because she was trying to impress.  Besides, her tiny foray into the neighborhood of purposeful self-sabotage via unshaven legs had turned into an epic side quest far into the metropolis of humiliation and razor burn, and if that wasn’t enough to teach her a hard-learned lesson about redundant forms of birth control, Patsy telling Alistair and everyone else they knew had certainly done the trick.

Nope, she would definitely not be living that one down any time soon, thank you very much Madame Dick-on-Leg.  Her twin was the worst.

By a slight margin.  At least Patsy didn’t need to try so hard not to try.

It was nearly seven o’clock and she was still standing in front of her closet like a posh woman in a perfume commercial montage, though she was less glossy and more… sticky.  Whether it was nerves (absolutely not) or the heat (probably), she’d already piled on two layers of deodorant as though that was in any way going to resolve the little thread of fear in the pit of her stomach that had somehow attached itself to arms and legs and all the muscles in her face and was currently piloting her around the room like a robot marionette.  She hadn’t been nervous about a date in forever.

_Not that this is a date._

_Shut up Blobby,_ she admonished herself.   _This is absolutely a date.  It’s a dinner date at your apartment that you set up yourself.  Stop being such a weiner._

It wasn’t even supposed to be a big deal.  That the sleek black dress that had seen the inside of more three-dollar-sign restaurants on Yelp was hanging in the front of her closet still wrapped in its bag from the dry-cleaner’s was purely coincidence.  And also a testament to her sad social life.  Not to mention her emotional maturit- _okay, shut up Bobby, that’s not helping._

She shoved the bag to the back.

Alright, shorts and a tank top.  No - too casual.  She’d bet twice the price of Patsy’s next over-sweetened latte that Cullen would show up in a jacket and tie, fresh from work.  It would be weird.

Fine.  A dress.  Too Martha Stewart?  Fuck.  Jeans then.  Jeans were safe.  Her dark denim trousers were right on the cusp of business casual with the right top, and -

_Maker woman, you’re having pasta with a guy you make out with occasionally, not negotiating a merger._

Not that she would necessarily be against-

_FOCUS BOBBY._

Somewhere across the city Jethann was rolling his eyes up into the back of his head like a kid in a B-grade knock-off of The Exorcist.

Annoyed with herself, she pulled the first t-shirt she saw on over her head, and tried not to think too hard about how she knew she’d picked the pair of jeans that made her ass look the best.  Obviously that didn’t count.  It only counted if she put on lipstick.

* * *

 

He was late.

He, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, was late.  And for his first ‘real’ date with Bobby, no less.  For a man so slavishly devoted to spreadsheets and proper time management, it was stunningly out of form.  Somehow he’d gotten distracted by the cyclone of fandom memorabilia and LED lightsabers complete with movie-canon sound effects that he’d lost all track of his schedule.  He hadn’t even had time to stop by the florist for another go at an old-fashioned romantic gesture and had nothing to show for himself but a slightly rumpled jacket and a bottle of wine gone extremely warm in the backseat of the car.

_Not exactly set to make the best impression, Rutherford_ , he sarcastically congratulated his reflection in the driver side window of his car, hurriedly checking his hair and his wallet and keys and whatever else might have been scattered around during his foray into the land where pop culture chachkies went to die.

Now what was it that Patsy had said?  Right, lose the tie.  It, and his jacket, went folded up into the front passenger seat, along with his dignity.  He dared himself to undo the top buttons of his shirt and, immediately losing his nerve, did them back up again, agonizing over each of them until anxiety had truly taken hold and he began to feel sticky, sweat making the fabric begin to cling to his back.  He would have climbed back into the air conditioned oasis of his car, but he was already so atrociously late that he didn’t dare.  Maker, why hadn’t he left himself more time?

The interior of Bobby’s building was a reprieve as she buzzed him in, though the way he took the stairs two at a time hardly was conducive to cooling off, and by the time he made it up the three flights of stairs to her flat he wasn’t any better off than before.  Cullen stopped, panting, in front of her door and smeared a nervous hand down his face.

Dinner.  With Bobby.  Dinner with Bobby.  For Maker’s sake, he’d been looking forward to this all week.  It was exactly his speed, private and quiet and theoretically stress-free, just a chance for them to get to know each other better, and to be alone.

Alone.  But… together.  With her bedroom probably ten feet away.

Not that he’d spent a lot of time thinking about that.  Not _a lot_ , anyway.  Some.  A bit.

Maker help him.

_Get it together, Rutherford!_ He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and then ruined it all by reaching up to adjust his tie, completely forgetting he wasn’t wearing one.  Not that it mattered, he probably looked as though he was about to choke even without it.

Embarrassing.

It took him five whole minutes in the semi-dark of the hallway to talk himself down off a veritable ledge of over-inflated social anxieties left lurking since high school and pessimistic forecasting of all the things that could possibly go wrong, but at least it gave him enough time to cool down a bit, the sweat on the back of his neck giving him a bit of a chill.  He’d completely lost track of time, taking long enough that undoubtedly Bobby would start to think that he’d gotten lost.  He raised his hand to knock just as the patter of feet heralded the opening of the door, and it was all he could do to plaster a smile on his face rather than a random panicked grimace before it swung wide open in front of him.

**

She was clothed!  That was literally the best she could do at this point (aside from shut the windows and crank up the A/C as though she was trying to emulate the Arctic Circle and make a penguin her spirit animal) - be clothed, and answer the door when he knocked.

Which, oddly, took forever.  She had enough time to hide the broken food processor in the laundry room, make sure there was nothing embarrassing or incriminating hanging off the doorknobs or ceiling fans, and check her lip gloss (lip _gloss_ dammit, not lip _stick_ \- huge difference!) before she finally heard a tap at her door.

Crap.  Oh crap oh crap.   _Get yourself together, Blobby,_ she heard Patsy’s voice echoing from somewhere in the back of her mind.   _And I don’t mean just your boobs!_

She pushed them up in her bra, just a bit, out of spite, and opened the door, coming face to face with a pair of well-muscled forearms that she frankly had not been expecting.  

That was really just unfair - he was still in the same clothes he wore every day for work, and yet - sleeves rolled up?  Was that a single solitary button at his collar undone?  Where was his jacket, his tie?  She could see the edge of what had probably been that morning a crisply starched white undershirt peeking out from behind the gray at the hollow of his throat _\- absolutely scandalous._

By the time her eyes made it back up to his face, he was blushing.

“Your sister is a terrible influence.”

Oh lord.  “What did she do this time?”

“Nothing.  She ah- distracted me.”

“Oh really.”

“With a lightsaber.”

“Oh _really.”_

Cullen coughed, clearing his throat awkwardly.  “I meant to be here earlier.”

Thank god he wasn’t - she thought she could still detect a tang of burnt plastic in the air that the smell of her Tropical Breeze Febreze hadn’t yet successfully covered.  It was not entirely a complimentary scent to the smell of tomato sauce, cooked meat and garlic, but dammit, it was just going to have to do.

And she’d totally lied.  She hadn’t gone light on the _aglio_ at all because what self-respecting cook was going to serve the equivalent of oily pasta with parsley on the side, but if they were both eating it, it wouldn’t matter.  Right?  Right.

In theory it was a good plan.

“Why don’t you sit down,” she offered, gesturing for him to come inside.  “I’ll pour us a glass of wine.”

* * *

 

He hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect from Bobby’s apartment - especially after the oddly curated fandom extravaganza that was her sister’s.  It seemed somehow both immature and entirely too curmudgeonly to say that he was glad the older Hawke twin didn’t share the younger’s predilections for collectibles (even if they were cool collectibles), but he was quietly relieved that he could see the floor.  At the very least he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over himself (more than usual anyway) and accidentally breaking some priceless prop looted off a set of a straight-to-tv cult classic.

Instead he’d just have to remind himself not to stare too long at the pretty girl currently playing chess with a number of pots and pans bubbling away on her stovetop. It was a much harder feat than it should have been, in no small part because said girl was wearing an apron featuring a rainbow-maned unicorn delivering cupcakes off the tip of its horn like a stork would deliver a baby.  It, and it's multi-colored sash, were oddly compelling.

Bobby’s almost constant barrage of color was a far cry, to say the least, from what he was realizing more and more was his comfortable monotone of gray.

Her flat was small but bright, with all the view a third-story walk-up could afford.  A worn-in sofa sat with its back against a row of windows, comfortably nestled in place between a cheerfully repainted dresser in yellow and green and a bookcase with slightly bowing shelves, loaded down with old text books, dvds and photographs.  There were photos everywhere, actually - set in mismatched frames on the walls and hung from the refrigerator door in the kitchen that shared the same large room, joined by a number of drawings done in pen.

Mostly of she and Patsy, of course.  A few of the twins with their friends, and one at least with a pair several years younger at least that still bore a resemblance in dark hair, noses and chins.  More siblings?  He supposed there was a lot he still didn’t know.

“I’m almost done here,” Bobby called apologetically over her shoulder.  “Just gonna let this reduce a little more.”

“It’s no problem,” he said, almost by route, turning reluctantly away from the large cork board with its clutter of candid images to rejoin her, scooting one of the stools out to make space for his long legs on the bar side of the island that separated the rooms.  “Though you didn’t have to go to so much trouble just for me.”

Bobby laughed, easing a tray of crostini onto a trivet shaped like a sunflower with - he was never getting over this - pot holders that looked like smiley face emojis.  “Patsy thinks I can only cook in servings of twelve, which is… apparently true.  Anyway, she shouldn’t complain, it just means she gets to eat for free.”

He grinned, took a sip of his wine. “If it tastes anything like it smells, she’ll have to fight me for the leftovers.”

“Well, if you’re still here in the morning, you can have first dibs.”

Cullen spit wine down the front of his shirt.

He was dimly aware of Bobby making sounds of dismay, crossing in a multi-colored flurry to his side of the room as he coughed what surely must be boiling acid out of his lungs.  Red wine was not meant to be inhaled, and he was fairly certain he had also managed to snort some out his nose and all over the landscape because somehow he had managed to glaze himself in a veritable mist.  Bobby’s frantic attempts to help were stymied by his protracted drowning (mostly in shame), and when he managed to look up at her through eyes watering perilously around his contacts she was standing a few feet away, anxiously gripping a tea towel in her hands.

“Are you dying?”

“No,” he croaked rather unconvincingly, and managed to clear his throat.  “I’m alright, I just ah-”

“I’m so sorry.  I was just kidding, you know, a joke?  Ha ha,” the laugh was as exaggerated as it was humorless.  “Ugh, I am such an idiot-”

“Bobby-”

“-was really not being serious, you’ve been perfectly clear and it’s not like I’m trying to rush anything or-”

“Bobby?”

“-and I mean it’s not like I’m nervous because that would be insane, I’ve just been thinking about a lot of things and maybe this is some kind of sign, because those happen sometimes right? And I just-”

_“Bobby.”_

The tumble of words abruptly skidded to a halt like an animated coyote about to discover he’d walked off the edge of a cliff, and rather than let the conversation plummet to its inevitable death at the bottom of the canyon of accidental awkwardness between them, he reached out, hooked his fingers into the pocket of her apron, and pulled her in for a kiss.

The little squeak she made against his lips was possibly the most adorable sound he’d ever heard her make, and rather than laugh and give her the opportunity to resume the verbal avalanche that threatened to bury them, he didn’t stop until she gave up trying to talk through it and kissed him back.

Not that he was trying to be forceful.  He hoped it wasn’t that, but with him seated at the counter and her standing between his knees they were almost of a height, and it was just so _easy_ to slide a hand into her long loose hair and pull her in close.  She had her arms around his neck, tea towel forgotten and draped over one of his shoulders, and it wasn’t until he pulled her in against his chest and got cold, soggy fabric stuck to his torso that it occurred to him to ease back.  Thank the Maker for her apron - no need two shirts being ruined.  The Hawke twins really were hard on his clothes.

“That was...” he started, not entirely knowing where that sentence would end.

“Nice,” Bobby finished for him, her smile almost shy, straight white teeth buried in her lower lip.  

He felt himself swallow hard, color creeping up his neck and face from somewhere circa the spreading stain on his chest as though he’d chugged his glass of wine rather than dumped it all over himself.  Drunk through osmosis was definitely not the look he was going for, but it was still hard not to let a big stupid smile take over when it wanted to.

“Oh shit, the noodles,” Bobby said, which did not immediately make sense to him as a momentary rose-hued haze had overtaken the language receptors in his brain and replaced them all with a slow motion track of his date in a shampoo commercial, dark locks swirling suggestively in an artificially wind.

With a flash she was out of his arms and to the stove, leaving him clutching the empty air and a tea towel that he half-heartedly used to dab at what he already knew was a ruined shirt.   _So smooth Rutherford, amazing._ It made that entire exchange with himself in the parking lot about rolled sleeves and unbuttoned collars seem incredibly stupid in retrospect; leave it to himself to stage an unsolicited one-man wet t-shirt contest in Bobby’s living room.

He could feel the beginning stages of a self-induced stress headache coming on but before he could even raise a sticky hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, Bobby looked at him over the counter and lifted a brow.  

“Why don’t you get out of that shirt?” she said, and then immediately backpedalled, hurrying to correct herself.  “I mean- change. Into something else.  I bet one of my nightshirts would fit you, I promise they’re not embarrassing.  Well, not _that_ embarrassing.  Probably.”

Her cheeks brightened with every word until they finally tumbled to a stop.  She wrinkled her nose when all he did was grin, rubbing the back of her neck in a move that was usually his, hand still in her smiley-face pot holder. “Shut up.”

He laughed.  Bobby made a face and motioned for him to take his shirt off, pointedly not looking at him as he stripped down even though he was still perfectly decent, if somewhat splotched, in his undershirt.  

“I like watching you get flustered,” he admitted, uncharacteristically brave now that she wasn’t looking, and feeling rewarded by the little stutter in her fingers as she took his damp shirt.

“You would.”

“I do.  It makes me feel better about making an ass of myself trying to impress you.”

“Don’t tease,” she accused, eyes narrowed when they flicked back to his face, and then rolling when he smiled at the little lift in the corner of her mouth.  “ _Please_ go change, you look like I tried to murder you with merlot.”

* * *

 

For the first time in what had to be close to ten years, Cullen Stanton Rutherford found himself in a young lady’s bedroom.

Good god, he was so _old._  Had it really been that long?  What had he even been doing with himself for the last decade, he wondered, eyeing himself in the mirror on her wall as his reflection caught his eye.  He lifted a hand to rub irritably at the more-than-stubble on his jaw - still blond, definitely _not_ gray - and then forced himself to stop, self-conscious when a dish clattered in the sink in the next room.

Should he shut the door?  Technically he was going to change, but it was just a shirt - was that weird?  It felt weird to even be worrying about this, but then it wasn’t every day that he went digging through his almost-but-not-quite-but-maybe-one-day-soon-to-be girlfriend’s closet.  It wasn’t exactly the same as an underwear drawer, but being alone in her room even with the door open seemed oddly invasive.  He couldn’t help but want to take a look around, taking in the blue comforter with its multicolored butterflies, the stack of books on her bedside table, and the way the bright yellow curtains that doubled as a closet door didn’t quite match anything else in the room but yet seemed, on the whole, to mesh perfectly.

Not that he knew anything about it - he was apparently afraid to wear _beige_.

_Focus on the mission, Rutherford.  A shirt, one shirt, that’s all you need._

Cullen took a deep breath and pulled open the curtains.

He was more than a little skeptical, not entirely convinced that little Bobby Hawke would really own anything that might fit someone of his size, but she’d said to look in the back and so he did, flipping carefully past the plethora of delicate-looking tops and t-shirts festooned with various cookie slogans and video game logos.  At least that’s what he thought they were.   _Asari Not Sorry,_ he mouthed to himself, reading text off a black tee streaked with blue before shrugging and hanging it back up again.  He didn’t recognize many logos beyond Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, but he supposed the franchises that he’d been slavishly devoted to in high school and college might be a bit before her time.

Or maybe not?

Was that a - no way.  Was that a Firestar from the _Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends_ cartoon costume hanging behind the dress with the tiny blue flowers?  It was!   _No way_ , he thought, gingerly pushing the dress out of the way to get a good look at the suit.  It wasn’t even the modern redraw of the costume but the vintage version, straight out of one of his teenage fantasies.  

Had she ever watched the show, he wondered?  Or was this something she’d seen online and thought was cool?  Not that it mattered, it wasn’t like he was some kind of gross neckbeard guarding the gate of nerd-dom like it was a place someone might try to infiltrate like a very confused ninja.  Still, it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing one would just find in a store.

Then again, neither was the Steampunk Daphne Blake costume, or the She-Ra tunic made of faux chain mail and leather pieces (still missing pants, though).  The pink Power Ranger costume _maybe_ , but the genderswapped Robin costume was definitely homemade.  And as for all the things he didn’t recognize...

What exactly was he looking at?  There was rather a lot of things in this corner of the closet just to be costumes from Halloween.  Was this…? Could this be…?  Was Bobby Hawke a… cosplayer?

A cosplayer.   _Cosplayer._ The word echoed around in his head until it completely stopped making sense and he had a moment of mental vertigo where all words became meaningless.  Why was this so shocking, and so… oddly compelling?  It explain the dressform standing next to her desk, and certainly cast a new light on her wookie costume and her willingness to wear a giant cookie around the mall, but it did not answer any of his lingering questions about the teal tank top with triangular pieces of foam bowing out the inside like angular… oh.  Old school Tomb Raider, of course!  Clever _and_ hilarious, he was grinning just thinking about it.

Right, he was grinning because a critique of sexist renderings of the female form was something that he approved of, and not at all because he was standing here accidentally groping a pair of pyramid boobs and thinking about Bobby in all of these outfits.

Okay, _now_ he was.  Wonder Woman’s lasso glinted enticingly, filled with untold promise, and why the idea of Bobby in a Stormtrooper helmet and nothing but her underwear was so exciting he was _sure_ he couldn’t say.  What was he thinking?  What was wrong with him? Maybe Patsy’s “pep talk” had gotten into his head and unlocked a pandora’s box of untoward thoughts, costume-clad fantasies that he’d never realized he had.

Apart from all that time he’d spent as a frizzy-haired, chubby teen with crushes on fictional characters, right.  

Ugh, god, what an image.  Maker help him, he was going straight to hell.

Pushing his way hurriedly past a white Ghostbusters jumpsuit complete with something green and shiny splattered on one side and what he thought might come out of a box entitled ‘prison inmate with weird boots’ but was probably some video game character he’d never heard of, he grabbed the first shirt he saw that looked like it might not tear into a million pieces if he so much as shrugged his shoulders.   _Bounty the First Volus Spectre_ , he read, glancing at it as he looked anxiously at himself in the mirror, attempting to smooth the hair he’d mussed with his frantic clothing swap.  He had no idea what that was, some sort of spherical metallic-looking creature with arms and legs in a classic anime ‘punching’ pose, but it looked more like an anthropomorphic golf ball than anything racy so he thought it ought to be safe.  

_And this is why you never go through a woman’s closet_ , he admonished himself, the thought manifesting oddly in his sister’s voice.   _Or her purse.  Or anything she owns.  In fact, don’t even talk to women, just go back to living your sad weird life eating unflavored oatmeal, doing sit-ups and balancing your checkbook on the weekends._

Well that escalated quickly.  Get it together, Colin.

Ironically, imagining Fenris looking back at him in the mirror, smirking and holding a soy latte, was the thing to calm him down.  He had no idea how Fenris would make his current situation relate to capitalism and all of its evils, but Cullen had no doubt he’d manage it.  Better that than a mental image of Patsy, winking and shooting him with double-finger guns, encouraging him to be a proper Jedi and introduce Bobby to his light sabe- _ALRIGHT NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE._

That was quite enough.  No more pre-date pep talks for him, only stuffy bouquets, neckties and showing up two hours too early from now on.

Thank god the shirt he’d happened to grab was black - he felt just as sticky as when he’d raced to Bobby’s door, and he took a few breaths before he forced himself to go back out into the kitchen lest he turn up looking like a sweaty tomato.  The deep breathing didn’t so much calm him as make him light headed, but he balled his stained undershirt in one hand and made himself go out anyway.  

It felt like he’d been in there for hours, randomly ogling her closet like a costume creep, but she was still busy in the kitchen.  His shirt was spread out atop one of the stools, damp and covered in stain remover, and though he didn’t hold out much hope for the garment, that she’d tried to resurrect it for him was incredibly endearing.  Bobby the Clothing Cleric, armed with a mace of Stain Disruption and a bottle of Shout! and clearly he was just going to have to force himself to think zero thoughts for the next several hours because here he was, already imagining what her armor would look like.

(Super colorful, obviously, with extra sparkles).

He was the worst, but imagining Bobby as a D&D character was definitely better than reminiscing on the frantic four minutes he’d once spent staring at her lip gloss in a bathroom while she picked Patsy’s half-regurgitated cupcake off his shirt.  Somehow he was making a habit of this.

Bobby turned to him and said something that didn’t register, and he jumped, startled and guilty.  “What?  Sorry, I- uh, I hope this shirt is okay.”

“Of course.”  She was eyeing him curiously, one hand still reaching toward him, finally indicating the form of his undershirt still balled up in one hand.  “Do you want me to wash that out for you?”

“Oh.  Uh, yeah okay, sure.”   _Smooth Rutherford, very smooth._

“Okay,” she said, and gave him a smile that he struggled to return without breaking into awkward, hysterical laughter at the idea of tiny Bobby Hawke dressed in full plate, a glittering rainbow shield on her arm.  And probably riding a unicorn, mobbed by forest creatures like a Disney princess.  “Let me just put these in the wash, and then we can eat.”

She’d probably roll a gnome.  But she’d be a fucking _adorable_ gnome.

Dammit, he was really going down the rabbit hole with this one.   _Stain Resistance_ , his mind suggested, undeterred.  It was all he could do to nod, draining what was left of his glass of wine as soon as her back was turned.   _Guiding Bleach.  Mass Cleaning Word._

_I wonder how many d8’s of radiant damage a spell called ‘Color Safe Bleach’ would do._

Clearly this was going to be a _very_ long encounter.

* * *

 

So this was going well.

Well.  It was going, anyway.

_Fair,_ Bobby thought, absently chasing a meatball across her plate with the back of her fork _.  Fair to moderate.  It’s certainly not poor, right?  I mean it could be worse._

_It could always be worse,_ whatever part of her brain not currently being overtaxed with keeping a plateful of spaghetti from spilling in her lap replied.   _Always._

Well that sounded ominous.

She supposed her creepy brain voice had a point though.  She didn’t normally start her dates off by doing laundry, but it was leagues away from sitting in the sink of a shitty pasta restaurant trying to shave her legs, or smothering to death in a wookie suit that smelled of artificial mango.

This dating rubric of hers really needed to be reexamined.

Cullen hadn’t said much since they sat down to eat, sitting at the bar next to her, long legs angled out because his knees kept banging up against the counter.  He was just so damn tall and good looking and really his arms in that shirt had been a constant distraction, and she’d burned the edge of her hand on the crostini pan and had been too proud and stubborn to acknowledge it because it would have meant owning up to looking in the first place.

Not that she was trying _not_ to look.  Just, you know.  Subtle-like.  With dignity, and not like the Big Bad Wolf drooling over what Little Red Riding Hood had in his basket.

Her basket.

This analogy was getting confusing, but the jist of the whole thing was that she was embarrassingly attracted to him and thirty minutes prior to this moment he’d been sitting at this very counter, kissing her.  Very convincingly she might add, though for whose benefit she hadn’t a clue.  All of her attempts at making it seem like she wasn’t putting a bit of effort in were about as effective as those little foam applicators that came in eye shadow palettes - a nice idea, but one that ultimately got chucked in the bin at the first opportunity.  

Not that it was believable anyway, nobody popped into their kitchen and casually made a three course meal for twelve.  There was way too much food here, what had she been thinking?  Ugh, and spaghetti.  Tomato sauce.  Why.  Why did she have to make anything with sauce of any kind? Sauces weren't seductive.  Sauces smeared your face, they splattered on clothing, they sprayed on your dinner date if you happened to talk with your mouth full. You were tempted to put a napkin in the collar of your top, almost willing to risk looking like a child sitting at the Grown-Up Table for the first time to avoid random droplets of flying sauce.  Cullen was rolling the spaghetti onto his fork as carefully as possible, probably worried about another red food-related catastrophe, or spilling something on her t-shirt.  

_Congratulations Blobby, you’ve created a Dating Gauntlet of Doom._ They’d never get out alive.

But he did look pretty good in her shirt.  On her it was a truly huge affair, but it fit him almost perfectly.  Well, _her_ version of perfectly anyway - just a little snug in the chest and arms and shoulders.  He really had great shoulders, and the kind of muscles in his back that let you know that the Maker was real, and the fact that he’d turn bright red and start to stutter if he caught her staring was just so…

Adorable.  In fact the whole thing was pretty cute, and not in the ‘buy me a drink and take me home’ sort of way.  He looked so… mismatched. Casual.  Untucked and a bit messy.  Sort of like he’d stayed the night and put on the first rumpled thing he found on the floor.

Dammit, she was staring at his bicep, wasn’t she.  It flexed lightly as he shifted, muscle rolling smoothly beneath the skin, and suddenly she could picture in her mind what he would look like sprawled out on her sheets first thing in the morning, stretching lazily with his arms over his head.

The screeching sound of fork on plate shattered the daydream abruptly, the mature and self-controlled part of her brain taking hold again just in time to see a meatball go rocketing off the edge of her plate like a live-action metaphor for her life.

“Shit,” she said, and started to move, just as he said “I’ve got it” and leaned over, knocking their heads together like two bowling pins rattling in a lane.

“Holy-” was all she got out, losing her fork as she clutched the side of her head.  At least she managed to save the plate, shoving it onto the countertop where it ought to have been in the first place, instead of in her lap.  Cullen had the palm of his hand pressed to his temple, but completely incongruous with the utter disaster unfolding all around her, started to laugh.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she admitted sheepishly, wrinkling her nose.  “Stupid fucking meatballs.”

He laughed again _(why did he keep doing that?!)_ and leaned over, more carefully this time, and snagged the errant meatball off the floor, even bothering to wipe up the smear of sauce _(unsexy sauce!)_ with his napkin.  “They’re so good, I think they can be forgiven.”

Well they _were_ pretty good.  Bobby pardoned her errant meal enough to take another bite, careful not to send any more food rolling off the edge of the earth.  “They’re my dad’s recipe. Patsy can’t keep them from falling apart in the pan, so she freaks out whenever I make them and tries to eat her weight in beef.”

“Not the best cook, then?”

Bobby scoffed.  “Are you kidding?  You’ve seen her flat.  She doesn’t have a single cooking utensil not shaped like something off Cartoon Network.  It’s all form, no function.”

“She is rather dedicated to her collection.  I’m not sure what the overarching theme is…”  Bobby gave him a bland look.  “Okay, point taken.”

His smile was warm, good natured and infectious, and she could feel the sting of runaway food fading, the corners of her mouth starting to turn upward of their own accord.  He had a rather nice face.  He was handsome, of course, but there was something about him that just seemed genuine.  Not at all like Charming Charlie or Perfect Pierre with their fucking expensive bar tabs and flashy cars and the way they treated her like they were trying to make a sale.  As though she could be negotiated for, her value identified and bargained down for the best deal.

Her cheeks flushed, a moment of uncharacteristic anger making her pulse beat hard in her throat.  She hid it quickly behind her wine glass, swallowing it down.  “So,” she offered, attempting to clear her mind with a change in the subject.  “I hope this makes up at least a little for La Pasteria.”

“They should fire their chef and hire you.  Really, this is incredible.  But you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“Well, I didn’t leave out the _aglio_ ,” she commented, just to tease him, and smiled when he made a face.  “I sacrifice flavor for no man.”

Cullen chuckled, shook his head.  “As it should be.  Was your dad the one who taught you how to cook?”

The smile tried to fade and was frozen abruptly in place.  “I’m sorry?”

He raised an eyebrow, apparently none the wiser.  “I thought I heard you say earlier that this was his recipe.”

“Oh.  Right, yeah.”   _Get it together, Blobby._  “He did a lot of the cooking when we were kids.  My mum was never really cut out for the kitchen.”

“Like Patsy?”

“Oooh no, not at all.”  Patsy would shit herself and die.  “She’s more like… you know those stock photos of women exercising without breaking a sweat?  Yeah.”   _Understatement._  “Mum’s not into a lot of mess.”

“And I bet your dad’s the complete opposite.”

It still hurt to think about, just a bit. The little squeeze around her heart was ever present, but she was prepared for it, smiling in spite.  “He really was.”

She’d said it lightly, but Cullen paid such close attention to everything she should have known he’d pick up on that one little word.  His eyes were on her now, noting the smile but looking as though he didn’t quite believe it, brow creasing like a golden retriever concerned he’d done something wrong.  “I’m sorry Bobby, I-”

“You didn’t know,” she dismissed, one shoulder lifting in a shrug.  “And anyway, it’s fine.  It was years ago.”

He paused, and she could only imagine him carefully parsing her words, examining them for any hint of deception, hesitating over whether or not he should even ask.  “What was he like?”

“Perfect,” she said, and grinned.  “Handsome.  Awful - just the _worst_ sense of humor.  Patsy’s a lot like him, in that way.  And I’m pretty sure he bought her first action figure, so we have him to thank for the current state of her flat.”

“He sounds pretty amazing.”  

“He was.  He was really good dad.  Spent a lot of time with us when we were little, when four kids was a bit too much for my mum.”

“Four kids, really?”

Bobby nodded.  “Two sets of twins.”

“Good god.”

“I know, right?  Unholy terror like you’ve never imagined.”

He looked like he was imagining it now. “There are four of us as well, but not twins.  Which is probably for the best - I’m not certain any of us would have survived puberty.”

“Were you wild?”

Cullen laughed.  “My mother, maybe - she’s an artist.  Very into anything ‘expressive’.  She let my brother Branson refer to himself as ‘Chicken Wing’ for three months once, because she thought it was good for his chakras.  If not for my sister Mia, we might have all grown up named after vegetables.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure that is literally _the_ best story I have ever heard.”

“Well, if there’s anything I have in abundance, it’s awkward stories about my childhood.”

His dry amusement instantly increased her attraction tenfold.   _Who gets hot and bothered over childhood reminiscing Bobby, geez!  Pull yourself together, we cannot afford another flying meatball incident._

“So uh… your dad, is he an artist too?”

“Sort of.”  Cullen shrugged, pushing his plate away.  He’d cleaned it while she wasn’t looking, and reached across the counter to for the bottle of wine.  He poured them such tiny amounts though that she hid a smile behind her hand - probably worried about driving home later, or seeming like he was trying to intoxicate her.  Adorable.

“He’s a literature professor.  Not a writer though really, more of the uh… analytical bent, I suppose.  He wasn’t really - he and my mother separated when I was fifteen or so.  They’re still together, technically, but only because I don’t think it’s occurred to either of them to file the papers.”

“I’m pretty sure lawyers are bad for the chakras anyway.”  

He smiled at her lame joke, and thank the Maker - she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his openness, all of this unasked for honesty.  It was… truthfully it was incredibly endearing, and not in an adorable puppy sort of way.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meaningful conversation about things less than happy with a person she was just getting to know.  Everyone important in her life already knew all the sordid details, it had been a while since she’d talked about her family with someone new.

Not that they’d covered much ground - there were things it was probably always going to be too early to get into (not enough alcohol, never enough alcohol) - but it felt sort of...

Nice.

 


	32. Cullen & Bobby vs. Trying to Not Try (Part 2 nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe slightly NSFW (you are welcome)

What the hell had possessed her to make dessert?  They were both entirely too full from dinner to want to eat another bite.  Not that the panna cotta in the fridge would go to waste, Patsy would just come over and eat it all tomorrow like it was an food appropriate for breakfast.  Still, one of these days she really was going to have to get a handle on menu planning.

But then what would Patsy eat?

 _God, stop thinking about Patsy,_ she told herself sternly, flipping nervously through the movies on her queue.  Why hadn’t she bothered to add anything date appropriate?  It was like a sad montage of weird nerdery that she wasn’t even watching - she and Patsy shared an account, and it really showed.  Why were there three separate movies about giant sharks?  Oh great, this one had subtitles - there was no way _that_ was happening.  And they’d just eaten, a documentary about food hardly seemed appealing.

This is what she got for suggesting a movie and being so unprepared.

She was still flipping through the list when she heard the bathroom door open, Cullen coming back out to join her in the living room.  Instantly she was a bundle of nerves, the backs of her arms tingling with the urge to wring her hands together.  

_What is your problem Blobby?_

_I’M NERVOUS, SHUT UP, OKAY?!_

_Sheesh, fine.  Have it your way._

Maker.

She worried suddenly she’d made it too dark in here by turning off the overhead light.  She had a lamp and there was the light on the hood above the stove, but was it sort of - too intimate?  Ugh, and her place wasn’t really great for watching movies in the first place, the TV at a right angle to the couch so you had to sit with your back against the arm and your legs sprawled out to be comfortable.  Perfect if you were going to watch by yourself, or sit with a computer in your lap and write, but either she’d have to pull the couch out, or-

Cullen sat down.

They were going to have to snuggle.

Somehow the storm surge of her distress was completely lost on him as he leaned into the corner, one elbow propped up on the arm of the couch.  Maybe snuggling was expected, totally par for the course.  Apparently kissing her was on the table, he’d seemed pretty okay with that earlier, so maybe this was just… normal?

How the hell was she the one freaking out?  That just didn’t seem fair.  He didn’t even date, he said as much, and she was -

_Okay look, now is not the time to dissect my intimacy issues.  Can I not just live?_

“Did you find anything good?” he asked, startling her back into the present.

“Everything Patsy has on here is either a zombie movie or involves a giant radioactive animal of some kind.”

Cullen laughed, leaning in to take the remote.  She froze, hyper aware him right at her shoulder, imagining she could feel the body heat radiating off of his arm where it extended just inches from hers as he flipped through a few of the options. “How about this one?” he asked.  “It’s newish.”

“Sure!” she said, overly bright, completely glazing her eyes over the selection.  “Sounds great!”

Cullen gave her a look - not exactly odd, but a touch assessing - and she hurriedly looked away, grabbing one of her throw pillows for absolutely no reason, clutching it like it was a life raft that would keep her from drowning in this sea of her own weird behavior.  “Do you want me to pull the couch out, or…?”

“I think we can fit,” he said carefully, eyes on her face.  “If that won’t bother you.”

“Bother me, why would that bother me?”  Oh _god_ , she sounded completely insane, like one of those high-pitched voiceovers on a commercial for an unrealistic doll.  She cleared her throat and tried to bring it down a notch.  “I mean, I’m okay if it won’t bother you…?”

He just shook his head and scooted around as she got up, stretching his long legs out and making room for her on the outside of the couch next to him, one arm draped along the armrest at her back.  Bobby tucked herself in at his side, gingerly trying to find a balance between sitting half in his lap and falling off the edge.  She could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye and studiously did _not_ look, awkwardly holding the pillow in her lap because now she didn’t know what to do with it.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes,” she said, and forced her shoulders to relax, hyper aware of his arm pressing against the back of her shirt.  “This is fine, I’m just- a weirdo.”

“I think you’re lovely.”

Startled, she turned to look at him just as the opening credits started to play.  His eyes were on the screen but he made no attempt to hide his smile, and she huffed, baffled but flattered, and settled in a bit closer to his side.

This was just like the night at the Hanged Man all over again - minus one flailing stormtrooper, of course, and any unauthorized _pew pewing_.  She could feel him breathing, slow and even, his body warm next to hers, arm secure about her shoulders.  It didn’t take long for him to work up the courage to move his hand to her arm, curling around her the first time she cringed and made a face at some unnamed character’s brutal and unrealistic demise.  

Was she really watching this movie?   _Hell no_.  She hadn’t processed a single thing on screen since about the twenty minute mark, too fixated on the very soft way his thumb was moving against her skin, absently stroking.  It was incredibly distracting, as was the attempt to keep herself from imagining all the other places she’d like to feel his hands.

God, so much for being good.  There she was, biting her lip, practically writing dirty fanfiction of this moment in her head while people continued to make incredibly stupid decisions on screen.   _So_ not a date movie.

_It’s fine Bobby, just watch the zombies.  Nothing can go wrong with watching zombies._

Resigned to being annoyed with herself and determined to relax, she let herself lean against Cullen’s side, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. He turned and pressed his lips against her temple - and then froze, as though he’d done it without thinking.

_Ha!  How the tables have turned._

Normally she probably wouldn’t have even noticed, but she was so involved in obsessively monitoring her own body language that it was all too easy to pick up on his.  He held his breath when she looked up at him, meeting her gaze in the blue-white light of the television screen, and held tautly still as she leaned up and kissed him.

Side by side wasn’t necessarily the best position for kissing, especially when one person was a giant, but he tried his best to accommodate, twisting around carefully (and probably uncomfortably) to keep from knocking her off the couch.  All she could taste on his lips was a faint hint of wine, and she shortly forgot to worry about stupid garlic and tomato sauce and whatever else, a little too caught up in the way he curled his hand around the side of her throat, the pad of his thumb tipping her chin as he took her mouth.

Gently, always gently.  He was losing his shyness, but the way he moved was always deliberate, careful and controlled and not at all given to her sorts of impulse.  It made her want to suck his thumb into her mouth, drag her nails up his back and pull him out of that shirt, and without meaning to she sunk her teeth into his lip.  Not hard, but not softly either, and it made his whole body shudder.

 _“Bobby,”_ he breathed, and she tangled her hand into his shirt, pulling herself over to straddle his lap.  He blinked up at her, eyes a bit wide, and before he could ask her what she was doing - _obviously_ she had no idea - she took his face in her hands and kissed him again.

It took him a heartbeat to respond, but when he did she was not disappointed.  His mouth moved against hers as his hands found her shoulders, ginger and uncertain at first and then with more surety, guiding her hands to press against his chest.  She could feel the contour of his muscles as they bunched beneath the dark fabric of his borrowed shirt, his hands on her hips, lifting her as though she weighed nothing to resettle them both in a better position.

Better, and more dangerous.  She could feel him responding to her touch, her kisses, sliding forward on her knees to press herself against the rise beneath his zipper.  He jolted, lips leaving hers to muffle a groan against the side of her neck.  She thought that might be the end of it, things progressing at a pace too quick for his liking, but he pulled her tight to his chest, the stubble on his chin rasping against her skin as his mouth found her pulse.

Maker, it was like she’d been dreaming about this, and it felt too good to even bother with thinking about how pathetic that sounded.  She arched her back as he pressed kiss after molten kiss against her flesh, supported by the hand that splayed itself against her spine.  When the other tightened on her thigh she smiled, eyes closed, and reached to guide it to her rear, reminded of their kiss behind the mall and how he’d been far too polite to grab her ass.

Cullen laughed against her throat, low and shivery, obligingly tightening his grip.  “You are - something else. Incredible.”

“Then you should kiss me some more,” she suggested, half-coy and delighted when he seemed to agree.  Her fingers roamed, exploring the solidness of his body, his arms and shoulders flexing beneath her touch.  She wanted to unwrap him, explore him, find all the places that would make him moan and shudder - wanted to take him into her bedroom, to pull him down on top of her, to feel his weight settle between her thighs.  Her hips ground down against him and she felt him exhale harshly, his hands tightening in their grasp, but always careful not to bruise.

She was sweltering in her shirt, even with it tangled in his hand and pulled halfway up her back, and when they broke apart to gasp for air she leaned back and pulled it over her head, tossing it on the floor next to the couch.  Cullen’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open for a moment before snapping shut and then opening again as though he thought he ought to say something.  She was still wearing a bra, but it was as though he couldn’t decide whether or not he was allowed to acknowledge this turn of events, his eyes moving from her face to her chest and back again.

She let him look.  “This okay?” she asked when she saw him shake his head, as though trying to reorient himself after a shock.

“I- yes.  It’s more than-”  He cleared his throat.  “I just want to be respectful.”

Why that included not looking at her breasts when she’d taken off her shirt and put them directly in his face she wasn’t sure, but the way his breath quickened allayed any doubts his hesitancy might have let linger about whether or not he liked what he saw.  

Bobby took his hand from where it rested on her thigh, and brought it to her face.  He smiled when she nuzzled into his palm, though his eyes grew wide again as she guided it lower, sliding it down her neck and the top of her chest until it cupped her left breast.  She could feel her nipples tighten against the inside of her bra, and she heard him gulp, staring at her as though he could scarcely believe where this night (and his hand) had gone.

“You are so beautiful,” he blurted suddenly, making her laugh and lean in to brush little kisses against his cheek and down the side of his neck.  He turned and caught her chin and lifted her mouth back to his, and she let him kiss her for as long as he wanted, not pushing him to touch her again until he was ready.  It took him a moment to gather his courage, seeming not to know what to do with all of this bare skin, but when he hit his stride she had absolutely nothing to regret.

He held her tight, his hand leading where his mouth would follow, dipping into the hollow of her throat and ghosting over the valley between her breasts. His palm burned against her back, long fingers tracing the catch of her bra until she thought he might undo it - though he never did, contenting himself with pulling the straps from her shoulders with his teeth, his hands closing around her waist to guide her hips against him.  His chest was tight, his stomach jolting under her fingers as they slid down over his torso, feeling the shape of his incredible body beneath her shirt.  He let her pull it up as he’d done with hers, watching her as she took in the gorgeous definition of his abdomen.  She couldn’t tell in the dark if he was blushing, but he seemed pleased enough to have her hand linger there, losing herself in kissing his mouth.

It was inevitable, she supposed - not knowing where the line of his comfort was until she trod it underfoot.  Her hand traced the light trail of hair down the center of his stomach to where it disappeared beneath the buckle of his belt, and felt him jump when her fingers rattled over the metal clasp.  Immediately she stopped, her hand resting again on the flat of his stomach as he leaned back against the couch to put a tiny bit of space between them.

“No?” she asked softly, and was sure that he turned bright red this time from the flustered expression on his face, his eyes raking her half-dressed body and the rumpled state of his own clothing as though surprised to find them in this position.  

His hand left her hip and ran shakily through his hair, a quiet huff of a laugh escaping his lips. “I ah- I didn’t mean to- I hadn’t intended.  You know.  To go so-”  Cullen cleared his throat.  “You are- I should have anticipated this.  That I’d have a hard time controlling myself around you,” he elaborated, a shy and almost boyish look immediately summoning a sympathetic smile to her lips.

“It’s okay,” she said and let out a breath, surprised as well at how shaky _she_ felt.  Not shocked by any means given that they’d basically been dry humping on her couch for the last hour, but everything felt hot and tight and she was sure that if she had to stand, she’d find her legs trembling.  “We don’t have to… you know.”  ‘ _Do it’_ , supplied the gross, immature part of her brain because she also somehow didn’t want to come right out and say ‘have sex’, like the words were cursed or something.  “Go all the way.  But if you want, I’d be happy to…” Again annoyingly failed by her words, she gestured to his belt and the strain in the fabric beneath it that had in no way subsided.

Cullen swallowed like his mouth had gone dry, and exhaled all in a rush.  “You have no idea how tempting that is,” he admitted, his eyes lingering for a moment on her half-bared chest before shuddering and shaking his head.  “I- no.  I shouldn’t.  I couldn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, his hands smoothing up her arms, taking the drooping straps of her bra up with them and resettling them on her shoulders.  “But I’d be happy to- do the same for you, if you like.”

Bobby blinked.  “What, really?”

Cullen nodded.

“How is that different than me doing it for you?”

He looked for a moment uneasy, chewing the inside of his lip as he reached up to gather her loose hair in his hands.  “Maybe it’s hypocritical, but… if we’re moving at my pace, I don’t want you to be disappointed.   _And_ it would make me happy,” he added, before she had a chance to object on principle.  

 _Huh._ That was a big bite to chew.  She sat up a little straighter, narrowing her eyes as she considered him.  He seemed earnest enough, looking back at her as she thought about what he said.

“So you… want to get me off.”

“...In so many words, yes,” he conceded, though reluctantly, as though somewhat pained by her paraphrasing.

Momentarily reckless and inspired, she licked her lower lip to moisten it and smiled, leaning forward to breathe quietly in his ear.  “You want to watch me cum?”

Hands clenched down on her hips, fingers rasping harshly across the fabric of her jeans.  She could feel him surge beneath her and tightened her thighs around his hips, gasping out a startled little laugh when he suddenly picked them both up off the couch and toppled her backwards, a careful arm around her as he laid her out beneath him.

If she wasn’t wet before, she certainly was now - the sheer strength of him, the way he could lift her and move her almost without effort made butterflies riot in her stomach.  She’d been daydreaming about this just hours before, staring up at him as he held himself over her, biting her lip in breathless anticipation as he carefully brushed the hair from her face.

“You very much make me want to change my mind.”

“Is that so bad?”

He wasn’t buying her innocent tone, his mouth bending upward into a smirk that made her heart rattle against the inside of her chest.  He was _so_ attractive, it was _not_ fair, and the way his arm flexed above her, braced against the couch to keep from pressing into her - it made her feel…

Small.  And feminine.  And extremely demanding, wanting to order him to get over whatever chivalrous fear he was harboring and fuck her immediately.  There was a perfectly good bed in the very next room that she was mostly sure he would fit in, with perfectly clean sheets and a box of condoms in her bedside table in dire need of depleting, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say any of that.  He was looking at her like she was something valuable, something mysterious and precious, and for once she didn’t feel as though it was meant to make her less than she was.

That was the sort of thought that she could feel at the back of her eyelids, pricking uncomfortably.  She blinked it away immediately, banishing anything bending untowardly toward emotion, and leaned up to steal a kiss, trying to banish too the little furrowed line in Cullen’s brow that manifested when she was quiet for too long.

The distraction was convincing, or maybe he just let it work, kissing her with that same thorough carefulness she remembered from the very first night.  He shifted to put his weight to one side of her, propped up on his forearm with his hand cupping the back of her head, one leg tangled up with hers.  She remembered suddenly that he was wearing dress pants and her Bounty t-shirt and mentally congratulated herself on once again managing to wreck havoc on his neat and tidy intentions, even inadvertently so.  She was, as usual, a ruiner, but sometimes that did manage to work out in her favor.

Cullen’s free hand had moved from her shoulder to her hip, the pad of his thumb stroking patiently, and she managed to peel herself away from his mouth long enough to grin.  “Alright Mr. Rutherford, show me what you got.”

To his credit he did not shove her off the couch, just shook his head and leaned down to kiss her again as though to keep her from saying anything else to embarrass him.  And granted, that did sound dangerously close to something that might come out Patsy’s playbook, just with slightly more vintage dignity than ‘dick on leg’.

Not that she couldn’t feel his-

The tickle of his fingertips moving along her stomach banished the rest of that thought into the ether, and she bit down on her lip when his mouth left hers, an entire field of butterflies galavanting rampant through her midsection as he slowly, deftly, pulled the button of her jeans undone.

 _Crap, I’m wearing the Captain Planet underwear!_ she realized belatedly, but it was far too late to do anything about it - her zipper went down with a quiet rasp and she could feel him holding his breath, his hand smoothing over the lower part of her stomach, not quite there, but-

“Captain Planet!  Nice.”

God, of course he’d notice.  Stupid underwear!

“I always wanted to be Wheeler, but I think I’m more of a Linka.”

“What you are is a _huge nerd_.”

“But a nerd that appreciates your selection of panties.”

There was really no way she could argue with that, and she really didn’t feel much like arguing at all - not at least while she was sorting out why she found Cullen saying the word _panties_ so incredibly erotic.  And then his fingers started moving and her brain stopped working and -

_Priorities.  Other priorities, okay?_

He was watching her so closely that she wanted to hide her face, looking downward as though to watch his fingers move though she couldn’t see much past his forearm.  She could _feel_ though, his warm hand sliding down beneath the waistband of her panties, lower and lower, and-

He groaned, dropping his forehead against hers.  She was hot and slick and entirely too ready for this, hips tilting to press herself into his hand.

 _“Fuck,_ Bobby-” he managed before she grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and kissed his mouth.  If he said anything else, made any other sound, she was going to fall apart into a sad melted puddle immediately.  She’d known of course that she was ready to go as far as he was comfortable, but the reality of his hands on her body, the actual sensation of it - there was no way she was going to last.  That was not a problem she usually had (if it was even a problem to begin with), but it had been a _long_ time since she’d felt this eager.

Probably because the rest of the time it was either reckless or bored.

His fingers moved and she held on tight, letting him crush her for a moment when she pulled him down on top of her.  She could feel her breath steaming against his neck and the side of her face in the close air, her thighs clenching, hips lifting, toes curling and teeth tight around her kiss-swollen lower lip as he dangled her at the edge, and pushed her over.

A thousand balloons burst in complete silence.  Her ears were ringing, legs quivering, blood rushing to her head and everywhere else until it felt like she might legitimately pass out.  Belatedly she remembered to breathe, blinking at him as he gently slid his hand free and propped himself up again.  “Good lord.”

He looked _so_ amused, the smug bastard.

Overcome with the urge to laugh suddenly, she lifted both hands to her face, hiding her eyes and then feeling her flushed cheeks.  “Well that was unexpected.”

“Enjoy yourself?”

“Well, you know.”  She couldn’t hold a serious face for long, dissolving again into inexplicable giggles.  “That was uh… pretty good.  Pretty amazing.  Pretty fantastic.  Thank you for all your hard work.”

Cullen made an adorable sound, somewhere between a snort and a laugh.  Which she probably deserved - she’d just thanked him like he’d helped her install a ceiling fan.

“My pleasure.”

“No, but… really.”  They were still all tangled up and her pants were still undone, and his arm was probably asleep, but she didn’t want him to move just yet, reaching up to trail her fingers along the side of his cheek.  “I hope that wasn’t- you know.  Too much.”

“I could do that literally all day.”

Bobby burst out laughing.  “Well then, what are you doing tomorrow?”

* * *

 

They finished the movie.  Well - _he_ finished the movie.  She, in true form, ended up cuddled up against him with her legs in his lap, nearly asleep with no regard to zombie noises in the background.  She wasn’t even sure how long it had been over until he finally gave her a gentle shake, leaning over to kiss her cheek and forehead until she was awake.

“You should go to bed,” he murmured, close in her ear, and she really couldn’t argue with that.  Except, of course, that it meant moving out of this cocoon of warmth she’d summoned around her.  The air conditioner in her apartment was still running, which meant everything was freezing, and the idea of crawling between cold sheets all alone was incredibly unappealing.

She wanted him to stay.  Not even to do anything in particular (not that she’d turn it down, but that wasn’t the point).  She just sort of… wanted to fall asleep next to him, wanted him there when she woke up, and as though that thought had switched on a lightbulb in her head, she was suddenly instantly awake.  The clock on the wall read close to one o’clock in the morning, way past his responsible bedtime, and she sat up maybe quicker than she should have given the lazy state of her limbs, scooting away to give him some space to get up as well.

“I didn’t mean to keep you out so late.”

He was watching her again, studying her like one would an animal in the wild.  She was never sure what to do with that.  “Don’t apologize.  I had a really good time with you.”

The words sounded genuine, and she felt herself soften.  “Yeah?”

He smiled, his eyes gold enough to be warm in the half-dark. “Yeah.”

She insisted on sending him home with leftovers - once Patsy got to them, there would be nothing left - and folded his damp shirts.  She could already see that the red stain hadn’t come out of the grey fabric, but she decided to save that for another day.  He looked so good in her Bounty t-shirt it would be a shame for him to take it off.

Ever.  Except maybe to-

_Yeah yeah, Blobby, we know, we know._

They lingered awkwardly at the door, neither one of them seeming to know what to say or really wanting to say goodbye.  After a long, protracted moment of the two of them smiling and laughing quietly at each other like idiots, Cullen leaned down and kissed her goodnight.  Just a chaste little thing, but sweet and unhurried.

“Goodnight Miss Hawke.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Rutherford.”

“Lock the door behind me?”

Bobby nodded.  “I will.”  

She stifled a laugh as she watched him retreat down the hallway, a bag of tupperware in one hand and a bundle of wet clothes in the other, her wait rewarded when he turned to grin at her before he rounded the corner towards the stair.

Oh man.  She was _so_ not ready for this.


	33. Fenris vs. The Booty Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris makes a special late night delivery.

“Okay seriously, if you’re not going to drive properly, I’m revoking your license.”

Patsy snorted, pulling a left so hard her post-apocalyptic dune buggy skidded up on two wheels and threatened to topple over.  “This is Pandora, sucker!  There’s no such thing as _licenses.”_

“How am I supposed to shoot things if you just keep running them over,” Alistair whined over her headset.

“Be better at shooting, I guess.”

“That’s mean.”

“Only because it’s true.”

“Touche.”

“Hold on,” Patsy ordered, allowing the bandit technical to come rattling to a halt as her phone buzzed next to her, lost somewhere in the pile of laundry plus pizza box plus fluffy blanket that filled up the other two-thirds of her couch.  So much more convenient for sitting after Cullen had taken away all of her recycling!  Well worth having to give ‘the talk’ to a man of his age.

“Patsy, wait!  We’re on a spawn point!”

“Use this time to practice your shooting, Steve.”

“Patsy-!”

“Imperator Patsy speaking,” she answered, divesting herself of her headset in favor of her phone.  She could still hear Alistair making high pitched shrieking noises through the speakers.

“I think he might be better at sex than me.”

“No way.”

“Oh yeah.  He pretty much destroyed me with two fingers.”

“Ew, Bobby, what the fuck.”  Sister sex life - disgusting!  Patsy picked up a slice of pizza and shoved half of it in her mouth.  “So does that mean you guys did it?  Was it good?”

Her sister’s sound of irritation was well worth the interruption to her strenuous gaming regimen.  “No we didn’t ‘do it’, what is your life?  Who even calls it that.”

 _“You_ call it that.”

“Shut up, I do no- _anyway.”_

Patsy rolled her eyes.  “Yes, anyway.  What did you do if you didn’t fuck?”

“Made out on the couch.”

“Okay.”

“He touched my boob?”

What the hell was wrong with her twin?  Patsy shook her head at the television screen like the whole internet could see and agree with her, and shoved the rest of the slice of pizza in her mouth.  “I totally had a dick on my leg the first time Fenris and I made out.”

“God, must you remind me?”

“I’m just saying!  So did he like _touch your boob_ , or did you have to pick up his hand and put it on your boob?”

“... Okay you know what, that’s not even the point.”

Patsy had no idea what the point was, completely unable to hear whatever outraged thing her sister was saying because of how hard she was laughing.

“I can totally hear your entire conversation!” Alistair yelled from her headset, and she shoved it off the edge of the couch with her foot.

“Let me guess, he was probably all polite and shit, amirite?  Man, I told him you were ready to bang, what is this dude even doing.”

“You told him _what?”_

“That you were DTF.  Ready to take him to pound town.  A little bow-chicka-bow-wow, some boom boom in the vroom vroom.”

“I.  Fucking.  Hate you.”

“Hey, you’re the one calling me about your orgasmic double tap, I didn’t ask for this information.  Besides, I was _trying_ to do you a favor.”

“Well stop!”  Bobby yelled, and then lowered her voice, apparently remembering suddenly that it was the middle of the night.  “And please don’t tease him about it, either.”

“Aww, are you developing feels?”

“No,” Bobby said testily. “But I do want to get laid sometime in the next century.”

“Well hopefully he figures out how to unhook your bra while he’s trying to untangle his cravat.”

“Patsy.”

“Better invite him to a country ball and flash him an ankle.”

Despite her sister’s better judgement, she was laughing.  “That’s it, I’m hanging up on you.”

“But the scandal!”

“You’re a menace.”

“It’s why you love me.”

 _“Not_ true,” Bobby argued, but as usual it was without any real conviction.  “But I do love you.  I’m going to bed sis, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well, Mrs. Darcy.”

Patsy hung up the phone before her sister could enunciate another scathing reply, probably in the form of some Jane Austen fact that she didn’t give half a crap about and wouldn’t get anyway, having only ever watched the movies and tv specials.  Whatever, not important.

What _was_ important, however, was the prime opportunity to troll.

“Let’s table this for a minute Steve,” she said, headset half on as she reached over to flip open her laptop.  “I just had a _great_ idea.”

 

* * *

 

“Ugh, this is useless.”

Why did none of his books have any information on whether an Antivan Duke in the 15th century would have silver or golden goblets? Or neither. He’d have to calculate his approximate budget again. And apparently take a trip to the library. He knew the information was out there, he just had to find it.

Shit, already 2 a.m. The library was proooobably closed.

Fenris groaned, took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Enough research for today then.

Writing was harrowing, exhausting and just plain the worst. And yet here he was, spending his Friday night labouring over one measly paragraph. That’s for how long the goblets would appear in his novel.

Fuck.  He should have asked out Patsy instead.

He wasn’t really a “going on a date” kind of person though, and after the Double Date Experience he certainly wasn’t eager to become one. Why did people willingly pay for such horrendous food? Not that he’d had to pay, as Bobby apparently was incredibly well off to be able to take care of them all like it was no big deal.

Wait… did that mean… was Patsy equally well-equipped moneywise? His mind helpfully supplied him with an image of Patsy scarfing down La Pasteria’s shitty pizza; not the kind of thing someone accustomed to the finest restaurants would do. And both of the twins worked at the Kirkmall, so maybe Bobby had just saved up trying to impress Colin.

Not that it mattered if Patsy was well off. Except that it did. She’d have different expectations, wouldn’t she? But she didn’t. She wasn’t. This was _Patsy,_ the girl he’d seen eat stuff she found in her bra. She didn’t care for expensive dates either.

And it’s not like they were _dating_ per se. They were not in a relationship where they met at a previously-determined time to do a previously-agreed-upon activity. They spent their lunch hour together. And made out in corners. And… if he wanted to have sex with her again, they probably should meet _outside_ of the Mall. It had already been a week since their weekend of extraordinary fucking.

He really should have made plans with her. Not the “I’ll pick you up wearing a grey shirt and holding flowers and take you somewhere you need a reservation to get in” kind of plans. No. Plans that involved licking a wet path up her throat and her teeth around his nipple and her nails leaving red indentations on his shoulder as he drove into her and…

Fuck. He was getting hard.

The culmination of his Friday night was a boner with nothing but his own hand to take care of it, and he had no one to blame but himself.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Resigning himself to his lonely fate, he lie back on his mattress with a groan, hand reaching for the waistband of his pants. Just because he was going to wank himself to sleep today didn’t mean he’d have to do the same tomorrow. He would just text Patsy first thing in the morning and…

‘Do you want to hang out?’ Is that what he should write? Did that sound too casual? ‘I’m going to come over and fuck you’ is what he _wanted_ to write but…

Fenris closed his fingers tight around his cock, trying to banish these unwanted mental flailings. He’d spent too much time with Bobby, that must be it. Time to lock his anxieties in the metaphorical freezer and concentrate on getting himself off.

He should think about what he wanted to do tomorrow.

 _They were kneeling on her bed, her body pressed against his, his fingers moving between her legs and his teeth softly biting into her shoulder._  Fenris began moving his hand up and down his cock. _Her sweet moans were filling his ears and…_

His phone dinged.

_Who the fuck? It’s the middle of the fucking night, why would anyone…_

There was only one person. Fenris let go of his cock and it flopped against his belly, clearly confused as to why it wasn’t being wanked anymore.

 **Patsy:** u still awake

A grin spread over his face as he put one hand behind his head and began typing back.

 **Fenris:**  Yep. Can’t sleep?

 **Patsy:**  gaming. was thinkin bout u (Face Savouring Delicious Food )

 **Fenris:**  Oh?

 **Patsy:**  miss your hot body (Smiling Face With Heart-Shaped Eyes )(Smiling Face With Heart-Shaped Eyes )

Well. Fenris looked from his phone to his semi-hard cock and back to his phone. Time to go on the offensive.

 **Fenris:**  I was just about to here off while thinking about you.

No! Shit! Shit fucking auto correct!

 **Fenris:**  Shit I meant Jerk off!

 _Fuck._ Fuck his entire life. Fucking shit. Why did people do this over texts anyway? Fuck. She was probably busy laughing and not turned on in the slightest.

10 seconds passed.

He wanted to shove his phone in a blender. He’d need to go buy one.

20 seconds.

That was it. Not only had he ruined his chances of getting laid this weekend, but Patsy was probably deleting his number and forgetting that she’d ever known him right this very moment. Couldn’t even type on his phone. Shit.

_Ding._

**Patsy:**  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Patsy:**  fuck fenris u cant just tell me sth like that when u r so far away in ur stupid flat (Flushed Face )

Mollified surprisingly quickly, Fenris smirked as he imagined Patsy’s eyes going wide at the imagine of him masturbating.

 **Patsy:**  fuckkkkkk if u were here i’d jerk you off instead. or suck u off. legs wide open 4 u 2

That was… an invitation he could hardly refuse.

 **Fenris:**  Be right there.

 

* * *

 

Jogging with a semi-hard-on was uncomfortable, to say the least. Still, he’d prefer his cock to stay in a state of arousal than to arrive at Patsy’s flat with nothing to show for it. Part of him couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, getting up in the middle of the night and literally _running across town_ because of sexual frustration. And to see his girl. _A_ girl. The girl. Patsy. Whatever.

At least the streets were deserted, so he didn’t have to push slow pedestrians out of the way or watch out for careless cyclists. Heralded by less graffiti and trash cans instead of trash bags, he left the unpleasant neighbourhood he lived in and made for Patsy’s slightly more pleasant one. He tried to control his speed and his breathing. He wanted to get there quickly but he also needed his stamina.

...Perhaps he should have checked how to get from his flat to Patsy’s before running wildly across town. Everything looked so different at night.

Oh no, there was Glazed and Confused, that dodgy looking doughnut shop that Patsy had pointed out with a fond look on her face, proudly proclaiming that she was their best customer and they even named a special after her (a triple chocolate nougat-filled monstrosity covered in sprinkles called The Patsy).  And right across from it: the door to her house. Aw yeah.

He waited until his breathing slowed down before he pressed the buzzer, filled with eager anticipation.

_Hm._

Nothing happened.

He pressed again.

…

Nothing, and he’d waited at least a minute.

Maybe the doorbell stopped working?

He fished his phone out of his hoodie and dialed her number, worry growing with each second that went by without her picking up.

“Whozzit?”

Her speech was slurred, almost as if…

“Fenris. I’m in front of your door.”

The sound of someone sitting up straight in their bed.

“What?”

“I said I’d come over and… were you _asleep?_ ”

 

* * *

 

The way up the stairs to Patsy’s flat was short and he _shouldn’t_ have had time to go into despair over her being asleep when he arrived, and yet still it was long enough for his mind to put him on trial.

“Is the accused aware that he ran across the city like a sad, horny teenager just to wake up his girlfriend from her well-earned sleep?”

“Objection! ...She is _not_ my girlfriend.”

“So you admit that your actions were pathetic and uncalled for?”

“Yes.”

“Do you also admit that the fact that you still can’t call her your girlfriend even though you’re doing The Most, as the kids call it, is the most pathetic action of all?”

“Objection! That’s… a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Why? Is it not true that you have immense commitment issues stemming from your deep-rooted fear of being abandoned, and approach all relationships as something ephemeral in order to protect yourself? Is it not also true that you’re currently freaking out because you feel like things might be different with a certain Patricia Hawke and that feeling is at war with your instinct to not fully invest yourself in a relationship?”

“Objection! I’m just trying to get laid here!”

Fenris came to a full stop at the top of the stairs, wondering if he could somehow turn back time and pretend none of this ever happened.

“Hello Sexy!”

Patsy stood in the doorway, grinning and wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties.

Time to adjourn this trial… indefinitely.

 

* * *

 

“I apologise for waking you.”

They lay exhausted and both very much satisfied (he’d made _absolutely sure_ on that front) on Patsy’s bed, too lazy to pull the covers over them and go to sleep, simply revelling in each other’s presence. Her head was resting against his chest, neatly tucked under his chin. One of his hands rested on her hip, fingers gently stroking her soft skin, as she busied herself tracing all the tattooed lines on his torso. Her fascination with his tattoos really made those hundreds of dollars he’d spent on them worth it. Also, they looked fucking awesome.

“Are you shitting me? This-” she grabbed his butt to stress her point. “-was awesome.”

Fenris huffed a laugh and moved his hand down to her butt in response.

“I mean, this was beyond a normal booty call, this is like some next level booty. Five billion times more awesome than pizza delivery!”

“The highest compliment, truly.”

Patsy lifted her head to give him a cheeky grin, pressing her tits to against his chest. Fenris took advantage of their close proximity and kissed her languidly, too tired to start a second round but not quite ready to fall asleep and stop enjoying the feeling of their naked bodies against each other.

He was glad he’d gone over to her place, after all. Though he supposed sometimes it couldn’t hurt to arrange future encounters in advance, if only to cut down on some of his inner turmoil.

“Patsy…”

“Mhm?”

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?”

“I do now!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> We're playing around with adding emojis to AO3, because that's Patsy's preferred form of communication. Can you let us know in the comments whether you can see them in this chapter? That'd be super helpful! Thanks! <3


	34. Bobby vs The Trollfic (NSFWish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PATSY CANNOT BE STOPPED

There was nothing better in the world than a fluffy pillow, a pile of warm blankets and a soft mattress to snuggle into.  Unless, of course, it was all of those things on a Saturday morning when she didn’t have to get up and go to work.

No cookie dough for her today, nope!  And no crying kids, hyperactive teenagers, and people who bought their weirdest flavors by the dozen.  No medieval cash registers or smoky ovens either - which was good because she still had to do something with that broken food processor still sitting on top of her washing machine.  And wash a ton of dishes.

Later, she’d do all that later.  Bobby pulled her blankets up to her chin and curled up on her side, re-settling in when her arm touched the cold screen of her phone.  It buzzed faintly from underneath her pillow, probably still on silent from the night before.  She pulled it out and opened one eye to look at the time.  Nearly 9 in the morning, she supposed that counted as sleeping in.

Little wonder, she’d gotten an epicly good night of sleep after -

She bit her lip at the memory, vivid and unbidden, of a tall, strong body stretched out over hers, a hand in her hair and between her thighs, fingers moving in their slow, certain circles like they knew exactly what it took to -

The underside of her pillow was cool and welcome as she pulled it down over her burning face.  He’d been so adamant about going slowly that she’d thought she might have a 35-year-old-virgin situation on her hands, and she’d been wroooooong, Maker how she’d been wrong.  Not that there was any problem with being thirty-five or a virgin or both at once, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t been with more ‘experienced’ men who gave a handjob like they were trying to paddle a canoe, and -

_Ugh, why are you thinking about this, it’s too early to be thinking about this!_

Especially when waking up alone, which a moment ago she’d been enjoying.

She loved waking up alone, to the point where she took great pains to make sure it happened that way.   _Go sleep in your own bed_ was a phrase she could say in a number of different languages, including ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and ‘that was fun, I’ll call you later for sure’.  But last night, the thought she’d had tangled up half-asleep in his arms…

It was the sort of thing that usually went away when the sun came up.  Daylight did that to a person, made all their night-time ideas look ridiculous.  You could have a cup of coffee and laugh at yourself while your empty apartment congratulated you on dodging another emotional bullet, but this morning it was just…

Lingering.

 _Don’t stress about it,_ that almost-mature sounding voice in her head soothed.   _You probably just need to get laid.  Don’t think about the couch cuddling, think about those biceps._

Well, it had a point - they _were_ excellent biceps.  And forearms.  And shoulders.  And thinking about her philosophy on _“dating”_ or _“whatever”_ was making her feel like an asshole, so clearly her lazy morning mental energy was better put to use elsewhere.

Like thinking about his abs.  Dear god.  And the way the muscles in his back flexed when he pulled her tight against him.  And the way she could feel how hard he was under those proper dress pants, pressing into the junction of her thighs when he-

Of its own volition, her hand had begun retracing the path his had taken across her stomach.  Her fingers hit the waistband of her panties _\- Captain Planet! Maker, they were both such NERDS -_ and stopped, hovering indecisively.

Was she really about to do this?   _Should_ she?

 _It’s not like he’s going to know,_ whispered that voice in the back of her mind.  The fucking thing did NOT sound mature anymore in the slightest.

She narrowed her eyes at herself.   _But I’ll know!_

_And you’ll do that thing where you giggle and turn bright red and then he’ll DEFINITELY know._

Shit.  The Good-Life-Choices voice definitely had a point.

_You could always just tell him about it later, the next time he’s got his hands down your-_

OKAY that was quite enough. Bobby yanked both her hands above the covers and stared up at the ceiling.  A couple of hours of straightening up her flat, and then a shower.  That’s what the day called for.  A cold, cold shower.

_Fuck my life._

Sighing from a place somewhere deep down in the depths of her soul, she rubbed her eyes and childishly threw her pillow across the room.  Her phone went with it, bouncing off her throw rug and skidding across the hardwood floor.  Instinctively she grabbed for it, trying to save herself the pain of a cracked screen with all the grace of a koala falling out of a tree, and slid off the side of the bed, ending up in a tangle of sheets and limbs and discarded clothing in a sad pile on the floor.

That just fucking figured.

Irritable now and unable to get her leg unstuck from where it was tied up in her comforter still halfway up the mattress, Bobby frowned and examined her phone.  Still intact, good - that was one expense she really didn’t need, not to mention the inconvenience of it all.  That’s what she got for being a clumsy dumbass.  She tried to get her leg unstuck and _\- dammit -_ failed, sighing heavily and flopping back down onto the floor.

Oh well, might as well just lie on the floor for a while.  That was basically how every day ended anyway.

Settling in, she idly turned her phone back on, flipping through a number of notifications she hadn’t checked the night before.  A couple of reblogs from Tumblr, a Facebook post or two by friends from high school she never talked to anymore (somebody’s birthday, _hooray_ ), and a handful of text messages.

 **Jethann:** Have fun at dinner - save some room for the D!

Horrible.

 **Mother:** Please return my calls in a timely manner, Roberta, there’s someone I want you to-

 _Not today, Satan._ She clicked out of that message and into the next one.

 **Cullen:**  I had a lovely time with you last night.

Received at 8:00 AM on the dot, that seemed so… punctual.  And very _Cullen_ , like he’d noted it down in his schedule somewhere.  ‘Send Bobby thank you card for last evening’s festivities’, right under ‘pick up dry-cleaning’.

As soon as the thought occurred she felt guilty - what else was she expecting him to say?  As though her phone could read her mind, it buzzed in her hand and startled her into almost dropping it on her face.  Oh GOD, he was texting her RIGHT NOW!  The Force was really not with her this morning at all.

 **Cullen:**  If my message earlier seems overly rehearsed, it’s only because I woke up this morning thinking about you and couldn’t find a less forward-sounding way to convey that.

 **Cullen:** When can I see you again?

Just as soon as she stopped radiating the fiery flames of the sun itself out of her face, which would hopefully happen sooner rather than later, lest she melt a hole through the floor and fall into the center of the earth.

That was so… not fair.  He always managed to sound so sincere and… and… romantic, and she didn’t even necessarily _believe_ in romance that happened outside of a novel. Just because she liked rainbows and unicorns didn't mean she believed in happy endings, and for the love of god Blobby, stop thinking about orgasms.

There was no way she was going to be able to respond to this now.  Undoubtedly it would be the best decision to wait a bit, at least until she wasn't flat on her back with one leg in the air like an amateur bondage film where miscalculations had been made and the fire department was on its way.

Even still she felt a pang of sadness, picturing him on the other end of the line waiting for her to write back, trying to focus on work while his phone sat silent and neglectful in his pocket. Cullen and his patience and those damn eyes, all warm and kind and -

 _You stop that,_ she scolded herself. _Stop that right now. You don't get attached. You are an independent woman who doesn't need some sexy noodle with magic fingers to come along and rescue you from your bedding mishaps because you are an adult and you can take care of yourself!_

Right.

_Ugh, fuck my fucking life._

She swiped her thumb across her screen, intentionally banishing her text messages into digital purgatory until she had some coffee and could more thoroughly deal with pushing her designated rock up a Tartarusian hill.  And anyway she had a couple of emails that could actually be important and not emails from Value Royeaux that just wouldn't let her unsubscribe.

There were two of those. Damn it, did no one use email anymore?

No one but her sister, apparently, whose subject line read “ _HELP OPEN ME SOS !!!!!!!!!!”_

God, Patsy, what the fuck. What new fresh hell was she clicking into this time?

_“Cullen Stanton Rutherford is coming over to pay us a visit.”_

What?!

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

 _Roberta Hawke drew in a shaky breath and felt heat rise to her cheeks. Cullen Rutherford… she hadn’t dared imagine the possibility of ever seeing him again. Mister Rutherford, the most cordial, fastidious and_ infuriating _gentleman she’d ever met._

_She’d barely had time to change into her nicest dress, the one with the dusky pink satin ribbons, as her mother called for her to come down immediately. Roberta tried not to rush - a lady should never rush! - but she walked down the stairs… very swiftly._

_There he stood, in the hallway, holding his hat in his hands and looking at her with an intensity that sparked a flame of arousal in her nether region._

OKAY that was just-

“PATSY!” she yelled, as though the outraged sound of her voice was going to carry the distance to her sister’s flat.  Her evil twin was probably over there cackling her wicked witch laughter this very minute!

No, let’s be real, it was way too early for Pastey ‘daylight hurts my eyes’ Hawke to be awake, but dammit, this would not stand!

Her twin had written _fanfiction_ .   _Regency_ fanfiction.  About _her._ And _CULLEN_.

_“Miss Hawke… Roberta… I need to speak with you, in private.”_

She would never.

 _Her mother’s eyeballs almost exploded at such impertinence_ (that part was probably accurate, regardless of time period) _but she just huffed and left the room, always in favour of Roberta having some private moments with respectable young gentlemen that might turn into respectable, wealthy sons-in-law one day._

Oh no, Patsy.  Too real.  WAY too real.

_Cullen led her into the parlour and closed the doors behind them. Then, he sat down his hat on the sideboard and turned around to face her._

_“Roberta, I cannot hold this in any longer. I simply… I must tell you how much I adore you._ Desire _you.”_

“WHAT the shitty fu-OW, mother... bitch!”  Bobby clutched the side of her head, having attempted to sit upright so fast she’d smacked her head into a slightly open drawer on her bedside table.  This fic was literally, _literally,_ going to be the death of her and yet somehow she couldn’t stop reading it.

 _She could act shocked or surprised but there was no good in clutching her choker when all she wanted was to unfasten his cravat and tie him to the chaise lounge to have her wicked way with him._ (Oh no.) _As soon as she stepped towards him, he put his arms around her and pressed her close in a scorching kiss. Roberta responded immediately, opening her mouth, surrendering to his passionate embrace._ (Oh god.)   _Soon, his cravat was off and she could feel his throbbing hardness against her._

 _‘Throbbing hardness’_ , she mouthed in horror.  “Throbbing hardness?  ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

Yes, apparently.  It seemed that her evil death troll of a sister was absolutely serious because it Just. Kept. Getting. Worse.

_Cullen picked her up and pressed her against the wall, his hand running up her leg under her dress towards the juncture of thighs where her wet core was waiting for him._

“Fucking hell- Patsy, _why?!”_

_“I must have you, Roberta. If you’ll allow me.”_

“OH MY GOD STOP!”  It was even worse because there was a part of her that could actually imagine him saying that.  Not that he would - NOT THAT ANYONE EVER WOULD - but she could almost hear it in his voice.  

_He murmured against her neck, fingers already tracing along her wetness and she shuddered against him._

_“Yes, have me, take me!”_

“Oh for the love of-” Her face at this point was so hot she was pretty sure it was actively melting off and she would have to walk around resembling a half-exploded firecracker for the rest of time.  She had never said anything remotely similar, _ever_ , to _anyone_ in her life AND SHE NEVER WOULD, PATRICIA.

She really needed to have a talk with her sister about her apparent wealth of free time.

_He unfastened his trousers and soon his hard member was pushing inside her. She was in reverie._

Just as soon as she was through murdering her.

_Their union was swift and passionate and he climaxed with a shout that he buried in her hair. Then he stilled, resting against her and moved his lips over hers._

_“I… forgive my loss of composure. I shouldn’t have…”_

_“You can lose your composure inside of me any time, Mister Rutherford.”_

_“Oh! Well, I shall respect your wishes then and endeavour to fulfill them as often as I can.”_

Oh god it was over.  Thank god.  The hard edge of her phone beat a slow rhythm against the center of her forehead as though somehow she might lobotomize herself and remove the pain of these last six minutes from her memory.  But no, no, _of course not,_ she could never be so lucky.   Patsy’s words were emblazoned on her eyeballs until the end of time, there was no way she could unsee them.

Fucking Pastey, what the fuck.  Hard member, MAKER.

Her leg came unraveled from the comforter and she sprawled down full length on the floor with a thud, limbs akimbo like a hungover starfish.  Bobby just lie there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, seeing the words _cravat_ and _throbbing hardness_ written all over the ceiling as though they were spots in her eyes after staring straight into the sun.

As if blindness would save her from this massive tragedy.  Did her sister even _know_ what a cravat was?  Patsy’s take away from watching Pride and Prejudice was _‘but why is he in a pond - not that I’m complaining, eyyoooooo’_.  Bobby figured it was highly unlikely.

Not that it would ever stop her sister. _Clearly._

 _Your Austen privileges are officially revoked_ , she typed, deigning to respond after a moment of debate.  Mostly for her own edification because Patsy only cared about historical time periods if soap opera dramatics were involved.  (And yet didn’t get the appeal of Jane Austen SOMEHOW - whatever, waiting for her twin to ever make sense was an entirely fruitless proposition).

_And don’t think I won’t get you back for this._

_Just you wait, my precious._

_Just. You. Wait._


End file.
